At First Sight
by flowerpicture
Summary: Ste runs a catering company and Brendan Brady is the new client who takes a particular interest in him. AU
1. Chapter 1

Ste was late, rushing into the unit breathless and muttering apologies, but Doug didn't seem to mind. He was busy labelling the Tupperware and marking each box against a clipboard in his hand. He gave Ste a distracted smile while Ste washed his hands, drying them on some random cloth lying beside the sink, hoping it was clean enough.

"Where's that lot going?" Ste asked, nodding at the boxes and trays.

"That wine bar on the high street. Brady's."

Ste perked up at that, wandered over to stand beside Doug and cast a critical eye over the volovants. "I forgot that was today. Who's the client?" Doug usually dealt with the business side of things; Ste just cooked for the most part. It had been their agreement when they first decided to rent this kitchen unit and make a proper go of their catering business.

"Brendan Brady himself. Some private function tonight." He ticked off something on the clipboard then laid it aside. "You good to help me load the van? I'm taking it over now."

"I'll come with ya," Ste said, hefting a stack of boxes into his arms. "Always wanted to know what that place looked like from the inside."

Doug raised an eyebrow at him. "You've never been?"

"Nah, ain't got a membership, have I?" He stood still to allow Doug to place a large tray on top of the boxes he was already carrying, attempting to concentrate on not dropping anything while his mind wandered. "Did you see that picture of Brendan Brady in the paper last week?" he asked, musing. "He's proper fit." He could picture him clearly even now, a week after he glanced at the picture—tall and dark, broad shoulders, intense eyes. Even the strong moustache lent itself to his appeal, which wasn't something Ste usually thought he'd go for.

Doug gave him a strange look and turned his back, reaching for more boxes. "Not really my type."

"No one's your type, Doug," Ste snorted, heading for the door.

"I wouldn't say that," Doug replied after a small pause, a weird inflection in his voice. It made Ste look over his shoulder, and when he did, he found Doug's eyes on him.

Ste smiled at him and continued through the door.

::: :::

"Caterers here yet?" Brendan asked, coming out of his office to find Mitzeee—hostess and events manager extraordinaire—helping herself to a glass of red.

"Nope."

Brendan sighed and checked his watch. "They're late."

"Yep."

He looked at her in irritation. She flashed her teeth at him, bright red lips stretching over perfect white. "Problem, boss?" she asked, taking a sip of her wine.

Brendan joined her at the bar, reached for his trusted bottle of Scotch. "Take ten percent off their fee," he said, pouring a generous shot into a glass. "And another ten percent for every extra half an hour—"

"Oh wind your neck in. They're here." She nodded towards the window, where outside a dark blue van was pulling up. The sign on the van read _Carter & Hay_.

"You can deal with them," Brendan grumbled, grabbing his glass. "I'll be in my office."

He closed his office door just in time to hear Mitzeee's overly cheerful: "Hi boys, I'm Mitzeee, hostess and events manager, we spoke on the phone…"

He collapsed into his chair with a sigh, sipping his drink. It wasn't as though he _enjoyed_ being surly, but he had no patience for any kind of contractors, especially those who struggled with timekeeping. How difficult was it to be somewhere by four pm, with a full fortnight's notice in advance? Seriously.

He sat there quietly, drinking, half listening to the muted voices of Mitzeee and the caterers. One voice kept coming through stronger, though; a loud, brash voice, a distinct accent, then a laugh, the most atrocious laugh, so bad that Brendan was intrigued enough to get up and go out to investigate.

Mitzeee was supervising two men arranging trays of food across the large table set up by the bar. They were all three chatting as they worked, although Brendan didn't pay any attention to what they were saying. His focus was caught. Caught on the man with the loud, brash voice—Manchester, definitely—the golden skin, the lithe body. The man grinned at something Mitzeee said to him and Brendan held his breath at the sight. This…was unexpected.

Brendan couldn't look away.

"Isn't that right, boss?" Mitzeee was saying to him now, grinning up at him mischievously.

"What?" Brendan said, distracted. The golden-skinned man had found him looking and they held eye contact for a moment or five, Brendan hit with some kind of jolt in his chest, until the man's eyelids fluttered down coyly and he looked away, fumbled with some plastic wrap on a tray.

"I was just telling Ste and Doug here how you were planning on tipping them an extra ten percent?"

Brendan caught the man's eye again and held it. The other guy barely registered on his radar. "Doug?"

"Ste," said the man. He pointed to his friend. "That's Doug."

Brendan brought his bottom lip between his lips for a moment. "Ste."

"Steven. Hay." He blushed a little; Brendan was enamoured with it. "Caterer," he added pointlessly.

"Steven," Brendan said, rolling the name on his tongue. Steven swallowed, the curve of his throat drawing Brendan's eye briefly. "Let's make it fifteen."

"Thank you, Mr Brady," said the other guy—Doug, American—coming forward and offering his hand. "We really appreciate it."

Brendan shook the American's hand, barely looked at him. Steven had turned his back now, making himself busy with unwrapping the dishes, and Brendan let his gaze roam down his slim back, his narrow waist, his tight, round arse. Swallowed past his dry throat. "Why don't you and Ms Minniver here go and sort that out. I'll help Steven with the food."

He didn't wait for a response from either Douglas or Mitzeee, brushed past them and approached Steven from behind, watched the back of the man's golden neck go a faint shade of red—feeling Brendan behind him, heating up under the attention.

"Anything I can do to help?" he murmured.

"Uh," Steven said. He cleared his throat and threw Brendan a smile over his shoulder. "Thanks, if you could start opening those Tupperware boxes…"

Brendan did as he was told, working beside Steven quietly for a minute, their elbows knocking together every now and then and Steven offering him small, beautiful, embarrassed smiles.

"I don't think I've seen you here before," Brendan said, searching over Steven's whole face, as if trying to find some part of him he would remember. But it was pointless—Brendan already knew he'd have remembered him.

Steven shook his head. "I don't have a membership."

"That's…a shame." He smiled when Steven shrugged, then called, "Mitzeee."

"Yeah?" she said from her place at the bar, writing out a cheque.

Brendan kept his eyes on Steven's as he spoke to Mitzeee. It seemed he wasn't the only one having trouble looking away. "Take Steven here into the office and set him up with a six-month membership."

"Eh?" said Mitzeee.

"You don't have to do that," Steven said to him, quietly. His eyes had darkened.

"I want to." Brendan looked back over at Mitzeee. "Just do it," he said. "Douglas, help me with this food. Do your job. Come on."

"It's Doug," said Douglas, coming over to the table while Mitzeee, giving Brendan a curious look, took Steven into the office.

"So, Douglas," Brendan said, after a minute of standing there with his arms crossed, watching Doug rearrange sandwiches. "You worked with Steven long?"

Douglas gave him a suspicious look. "Few months."

"Is it just the two of you?"

"Yes…"

Brendan nodded. "What were you before? Friends, relatives…?"

"Friends," Douglas said, looking up at him sharply. "We're not together, if that's what you're getting at."

Brendan smirked. "It wasn't."

The office door opened then, Steven and Mitzeee emerging. Steven and Douglas spent another couple of minutes arranging the dishes, Brendan watching them from afar, the way Steven's hands worked, the pull and flex of his toned forearms. After, when they finished working and collected their cheque, Brendan said to Steven, "I'll see you again," his persuasive tone indicating he meant it.

Steven's eyes flashed. "I'm a member now, ain't I?" he said, tongue teasing his bottom lip. "See ya," he added, before swanning out the door, Douglas on his heels.

Brendan watched him go, carried on watching even as the van pulled away outside. "You gave him a membership?" he asked Mitzeee, who was leaning over the buffet table, wrinkling her nose at some of the offerings.

"Yep."

"You got his details?"

"Yep."

He ran the pad of his thumb over his lips. "You got his number?"

She stood up straight and looked over at him, brows drawn. Then, cottoning on, she rolled her eyes. "You're unbelievable."

He smirked.

::: :::

"God, he's proper fit, in' he?" Ste said, five minutes into their drive back to the unit. He'd been bursting to say something about Brendan Brady ever since they'd left the wine bar, but Doug had seemed determined to deny conversation, switching on the radio and turning it up just high enough to make talking inappropriate.

Doug sighed. "Who?"

"Who d'ya think?" Ste could still feel Brendan's dark, intense eyes on him, the feel of him standing behind him, not quite touching, but that powerful presence, compelling and intriguing and…fucking _hot_. Jesus.

"Yeah, well," Doug said. He didn't seem to share Ste's current Irish fascination. And speaking of Irish—had he ever heard a voice so full of sex? Deep, dark, the rolling brogue… He shivered at the memory of it. Doug glanced at him and tutted. "Too bad he's straight."

"How do you know that?" Ste asked, heart sinking. Which was ridiculous.

Doug shrugged. "My infallible gaydar."

Ste wasn't sure about that, but doubt was starting to creep in anyway. He gave a mirthless laugh. "As if I'd ever have a chance with someone that gorgeous and successful anyway."

Ste couldn't read Doug's expression, but it didn't look happy. He decided not to push it.

::: :::

Days later, the membership card for Brady's Wine Bar arrived through Ste's letterbox. He stared at it for a moment, ran his thumb over his name printed on the bottom. There was a note tucked in the envelope behind the card and Ste pulled it out, looked at the Brady's logo and then at the handwritten message beneath it.

_Food was excellent. Will be using your services again. ~ Brendan B._

_PS. Hope to see you at the bar soon._

The scrawl was elegant, refined, and Ste felt a flutter in his belly. Even Brendan's goddamn handwriting was sexy.

He showed Doug the note when he got to work, grinning proudly. "Seems we went down well."

"Great," Doug muttered, brushing past him, casting only a cursory glance at the note.

Ste, deflated, tucked the note in his pocket and went to wash his hands.

"You still coming tonight?" Doug asked, flicking through files.

Ste drew his eyebrows together. "Tonight?"

Doug looked at him. "Out with the boys."

"Oh." Ste had forgotten. His thoughts had been a little too distracted this week. "Yeah."

"Good," Doug said, and smiled tightly.

::: :::

"What's with you and that kid?" Mitzeee asked, approaching Brendan sneakily from behind and making him jump.

He hurried to switch off the monitor, on which he had pulled up Steven Hay's membership information. His personal details.

His phone number.

The note should have arrived through Steven's letterbox today. Brendan didn't usually deal with mailing out membership cards, but he'd taken a personal interest in this one; had taken the card from the pile of new cards that arrived from the printer's and tucked it into his pocket. Later, he'd put the card in an envelope and agonised for a good thirty minutes about whether he should include a note. He did, but it didn't say anything he'd wanted it to say, like _Let's go out _or _Come and see me _or _Can I suck your dick?_

He'd pussied out, and no doubt Steven Hay was still none the wiser as to his intentions.

"Hmm?" Mitzeee prompted, hitching up one arse cheek onto his desk.

Brendan rolled his shoulders. "He…piqued my interest."

She snorted. "He piqued something, all right." When Brendan didn't rise to her bait, she tutted and stood. "You coming out to work or what?"

"In a minute."

She gave him an affection clip around the back of his head before leaving him alone. Glancing around to make sure no one else was sneaking up on him, he switched his computer monitor back on and stared at Steven's phone number.

Then shook his head at how much of a pussy he was being and pulled out his phone, sent a text.

_Buy you a drink? ~ Brendan B._

He waited for a response, but none came, and his empty phone screen was mocking him when he was still checking it hours later.

::: :::

Ste was drunk. Ste was very drunk. He was so drunk, in fact, he didn't even know if he was awake, or if he was walking or just floating, meandering, in nothing.

He was aware, however, of Doug dumping him onto his bed and laughing.

"You're a mess."

"M'not," Ste muttered, maybe. Maybe it was just inside his own head.

His shoes were being tugged off, and then his belt opened. The hands on his jeans buttons stalled and stilled and Ste shifted in the bed, enough to make the hands move again and pull off his jeans. He didn't know if his boxers came down as well. He hoped not.

"Do you want a bucket to throw up in?" Doug asked, and there was a hand on Ste's forehead now, trailing down to his cheek. A thumb, or a finger, or something brushed over his lips.

He shook his head, rolled over.

"Do you want me to stay?"

"M'fine," Ste mumbled, feeling as if his stomach alone was trapped inside a washing machine.

Something heavy fell over him—blankets. Then something else pressed against the side of his head. A mouth. Lips.

Then nothing, total blackness, until he was awoken abruptly and painfully by his phone blaring out an alarm at him.

He groaned and rolled over, tried to breathe past the dead rat in his mouth. Grabbed his phone and pressed randomly at the screen until the noise stopped. He lay there for a moment, eyes closed, counting the thuds slamming against his skull from the inside.

Then he peeled his eyes open and tried to focus on his phone screen, looking for the time. It wasn't the time he saw, though. It was the _New message: Unknown_ slapped across the screen, and the timestamp of 8.31pm below it.

It all came flooding back to him at once. He'd been out with the boys—or so Doug called them, but Ste couldn't say he was too keen—and he'd gotten drunk quickly, too quickly. His fault for going out on an empty stomach, but it led to the rest of the night becoming a blur. At one point he remembered trying to find his phone, wanting to call a cab to go home, but his pockets were empty, even when Doug stuck his own hands in trying to help find it. "You must have left it at home," Doug said, laughing, and he had been right apparently.

Ste opened the message.

_Buy you a drink? ~ Brendan B._

He sat up suddenly then groaned, clutching his head. He waited until the room stopped spinning and read the message again.

Half eight, Brendan had sent this. It was now nine o'clock the next morning.

Swallowing, he hit 'reply'. His hands were shaking as he typed, although he couldn't say if that was from nerves or the hangover.

_Sorry, didn't have my phone with me last night. Offer still stand? Ste._

He waited for a reply, sat in that bed willing his hangover away, and he waited for a reply during breakfast and after his shower. He waited for a reply on his way to work, and when he picked up his morning coffee, and when he started sifting out flour for bread. He waited all morning for a reply, and into the afternoon, but the reply never came.

::: :::

Brendan's phone had beeped five hours ago, and the name on the screen was enough for him to close the message, unread. Part of him was annoyed that Steven had kept him waiting so long; a bigger part of him, however, had reconsidered. Maybe he wasn't interested in this.

He got to work, distracted. Restocked fridges—not his job usually, but anything to keep him busy—phoned in some orders, had a meeting with Mitzeee and her assistant about upcoming events. Went out for lunch, came back from lunch, went online and vaguely scrolled through summer holiday options for a few months' time. Thought about everything and anything not related to Steven Hay.

Because he had to be honest—did he even have time for this? To bring someone new into his life, to make room for that person? Did he even want to? Maybe this Steven was dull. Maybe he was too young. Maybe Brendan had forgotten how to put anyone else before his work.

Maybe all Steven was good for was a quick fuck, which might have suited Brendan, had it not been for those bright, soulful eyes, those plush lips, that brash voice that rolled through his veins and itched under his skin.

Brendan could still remember everything about him. Everything. It made him feel light, and his insides coil with warmth. Something he'd not experienced for a long time.

Steven Hay. Some random guy who'd drifted into Brendan's bar and set up space in his head, like he had any right to.

Brendan sat himself down on a bar stool and pulled up the message.

_Sorry, didn't have my phone with me last night. Offer still stand? Ste._

Did the offer still stand? The ball was in Brendan's court now; it was his responsibility to make the next move, or any move, to push this forward. It could be nothing.

It could be something.

He typed out a reply, hesitated over the 'send' button.

"Just send it," Mitzeee said into his ear.

He started and glared at her. She was looking at his phone screen, shameless. "You need to stop doing that."

She rolled her eyes and wandered off. "Just send it, Brendan."

He took a deep breath and sent it.

::: :::

Ste looked up from chopping vegetables and sighed wistfully.

Doug shot him a sideways look. "What?"

"Nothing," Ste muttered. He sliced through a carrot. "Just that Brendan Brady guy asked me out."

Doug's hands came to a sudden stop mid-chop. "When?"

"Yesterday. Least I think he did." Ste shoved the carrot to the side and reached for a courgette. "Offered to buy me a drink."

Doug very carefully brought his knife down through the carrot he was working on. "And?"

"And nothing," Ste said, heaving another sigh. "He sent it last night when I didn't have my phone with me. I found the message this morning and replied, but he hasn't got back to me."

After a pause, Doug said, "Maybe he's lost interest," his inflection weirdly careful.

Ste's shoulders slumped at the thought. "Probably."

But then his phone played its cheerful jingle from within his pocket and Ste widened his eyes, stared at Doug, as if imploring him to do something.

"It's probably not him," Doug said, looking at Ste's pocket uneasily.

Ste wiped his hands on his apron and pulled out his phone. His stomach jolted. "It is him, hang on…"

_Come to the bar tonight if you're free. ~ Brendan B._

"Oh my god. He wants me to go to the bar tonight." He felt all of a sudden giddy.

"What? Let me see—" Doug snatched the phone from Ste's hand. He read the message, stared at the screen for a moment, eyes narrowed. Then he shook his head and handed the phone back to Ste, dismissive. "Don't get excited, Ste. It's not a date."

"What? Why? Why d'you say that?"

Doug gave Ste a sideways look, his expression telling Ste to wise up. "Who asks someone out for a date at their own place of work?" He tutted and looked back down at his carrot. "Probably wants to talk to you about catering another event or something."

All the giddiness melted away as Ste slumped his shoulders. "Yeah, probably," he muttered, tucking his phone back in his pocket. Of course that was what it was. Talk about punching above his weight. He rolled his eyes at himself, at how he could have thought for one minute that Brendan was interested.

"Maybe I should come with you," Doug continued, unconcerned or unaware of Ste's quiet depression beside him.

Ste shook his head. "Nah, it's okay," he said dully. "I'll just let you know how it goes."

"Well…okay," Doug said, sounding unconvinced. "Just remember to get a full estimated headcount. We're too booked up this next month for big—"

"I know," Ste said. "I work here too, you know."

Doug was right. Who asked someone out on a date at their own place of work? No one, that was who.

::: :::

"Why have you asked him here again?" Mitzeee asked, for perhaps the third time, as she hovered around where he was sat beside the bar. "Hardly romantic, is it, while you're playing boss."

"It's just a drink," Brendan muttered, distracted, staring at the door. "Testing the waters."

Since sending the text, Brendan had spent the rest of the day convincing himself he had exaggerated the image of Steven in his head, that perhaps he wasn't so beautiful, his presence not so magnetic. Because it was impossible. No one could look and feel the way Steven did inside his head, and his own twisted fantasy had created this newer, shinier version of him, something the real Steven would find impossible to live up to.

Only there was no exaggeration, and when Steven walked through the door, looking well put together but unsure, it knocked the breath out of Brendan's lungs and he stared, unmoving, until Mitzeee elbowed him into motion.

He got up and crossed the room to greet Steven, who saw him coming and smiled, warm and genuine, until Brendan stopped before him.

"Hiya."

"Steven," said Brendan. He thought about offering his hand to shake, but decided against it. It would set the wrong tone, and now Brendan had seen Steven again, he really wanted the right tone. He put a hand on the small of Steven's back instead and indicated a nearby table. "Shall we?"

Steven licked his lips, hesitated, and then nodded. He looked for all the world like a man steeling himself for the unknown. Brendan liked it.

Once he had Steven seated, he took his drink order and approached the bar. Mitzeee was busy with customers, but she came when he beckoned her over.

"Getting busy in here, boss," she said, making the drinks Brendan had ordered.

"I'm sure you and Kevin can manage."

"Thanks, you're a real help."

"I'm otherwise occupied," he said, eyes sliding over to where Steven was sat watching him.

She hummed disapprovingly and shoved the drinks at him. "Enjoy. _Boss_."

He planned to.

Ste flashed him a grin when he came back to the table, something bright and unguarded, all white teeth and perfect lips. He looked young, and free, and out of place in the sophistication of this wine bar. He also looked like he could take everything Brendan's hands and mouth and dick could offer and keep going, over and over again.

"Here you go," Brendan said, because he needed to say something before something untoward like _I'm gonna fuck you, Steven Hay_ spilled from his lips.

"Ta." Steven took a sip from his drink and waited until Brendan was sat opposite and comfortable before saying, "Dead nice, this place. How long have you owned it for?"

"Couple of years."

"I never see you out anywhere else." Ste smiled at him, something like embarrassment flashing across his features. "I mean, I go out a lot, so…"

"Of course you do," Brendan said, raising his eyebrows. "You're young."

Ste shifted in his seat. "I'm not that young," he muttered.

"No." Brendan watched him, couldn't take his eyes off him, scanned across his face and down his neck and every other bit of skin he could see. Steven knew he was being watched, but he didn't look uncomfortable. His cheeks reddened under the attention, a small smile tucking up the corners of his mouth. "Old enough to own your own business, anyway."

"Exactly."

Brendan smiled to himself. "So, catering. You like it?"

"S'all right." Steven shrugged. "Pays the bills, dun' it."

"Steven Hay," Brendan said, teasingly. "There was a distinct lack of enthusiasm in that response."

Steven huffed a laugh, brought his glass to his lips. "Just not what I saw myself doing, is it?"

"And what's that?"

"Restaurant, maybe," he said, shrugging again. "But this is close enough."

"Like I said," Brendan murmured. "You're young."

Steven nodded at that, his expression implying he'd had this same conversation with himself a thousand times in the past. Brendan liked that about him. Ambition. Drive.

He added it to his list of reasons why he wanted to get to know Steven better, more intimately.

"So," Steven said, interrupting his thoughts. "What can I help you with?" His eyebrows were raised, expectant, attentive.

Brendan blinked. "What?"

"The event you want us to cater," Steven explained.

"What?" Brendan said again, staring at him.

Steven's eyebrows knitted together now. "That is why you asked me here, isn't it? Business?"

Understanding flooded through Brendan and he didn't know whether to laugh at the misunderstanding, or prepare for the possible rejection. "This isn't about business, Steven."

Steven searched his eyes, and Brendan let him. Sat still and looked right back, waiting. "So it's a…" Steven began, breaking eye contact briefly and swallowing. Brendan silently urged him to finish his thought. "It's a date?"

Brendan drummed the tips of his fingers against the table top. "It's a drink," he said, and made sure he had Steven's full attention before continuing, "to see if we want to go on a date."

Steven licked his lips. He looked in danger of breathlessness. "Do you?"

Brendan considered him, ignored the pounding of his own heart. "Yes. I do."

The grin that spread across Steven's face made him smile in return, genuine and almost shy.

"Boss," said Mitzeee, appearing at his shoulder. Sometimes Brendan wished she had an off button. "Brendan."

Steven, now that they had company, looked down at his own lap, that grin still on his face.

"What?" Brendan snapped.

"Look, I know you're…occupied, but it really is getting busy. There's a rush on and we need your help."

Brendan sighed and gave her a nod. He got to his feet, leaned forward, supporting his weight with a hand rested on the table just in front of Steven. This was the closest he'd been to Steven since he'd met him. "I'll bring you another drink when I come back," he murmured, staring into Steven's eyes. "Don't go anywhere."

Steven nodded, enthralled.

::: :::

Ste watched Brendan work, his heart racing in his chest and his head full of all sorts of naughty images. Brendan in work mode was a major turn-on. He was quick, capable, charismatic… mixing drinks and pulling pints and flipping bottles in the air like gravity wasn't a thing. He winked at girls, smiled and grinned, worked his way through each customer like it was an art form, made bartending look like the sexiest profession in the world.

And this was the man who wanted to take Ste out on a date.

Ste couldn't believe this was happening. Not to him.

When Brendan came back, two fresh drinks in his hand, Ste had to work to bring his thoughts back into appropriate territory.

"Apologies," Brendan drawled, sitting back down.

Ste smiled. "No worries."

Brendan took a sip of his drink, watching Ste over the rim of his glass. "Where were we?" he asked, licking a drop of alcohol off his top lip.

Feeling bold and reckless and confident, Ste grinned and said, "You were asking me out."

"So I was," Brendan said, eyes dancing. "You haven't given me your answer."

Ste felt powerful on the inside, like he was worthy of this all of a sudden. Like Brendan wanted him, and that was okay, that made sense—Brendan saw something in him that he liked, that he wanted to get to know; the idea of it buoyed Ste, gave him just enough ego to deal with this like a man, like the kind of man Brendan would want. "You like live music?"

"I do," Brendan said.

"There's this gig on Friday. I've got an extra ticket." His phone buzzed before Brendan could respond and he retrieved it from his pocket, muttered, "Sorry, hold on," before opening the message.

It was Doug.

_Emergency at work. Need you here ASAP._

It was nearly ten o'clock at night. Why on earth was Doug at work?

"Uh," Ste said, closing the message and looking up at Brendan awkwardly, who wore an expectant expression. "I have to go."

"You have to go," Brendan repeated flatly. "Right now?"

Ste grimaced. "Yeah, I'm sorry." He got to his feet and held up his phone as if in explanation. "Work emergency."

"Right," Brendan said. He got to his feet as well. "Yeah, okay. So I guess…"

"Friday?" Ste asked, hopeful.

Brendan smiled. "Yeah, Friday. I'll call you."

"Okay," Ste said, and then stood there, smiling stupidly at him.

Brendan raised an eyebrow, but he looked fond rather than irritated. "Work emergency?"

"Right, right," Ste said, jolting into action. "Uh…thanks for the drink."

"Anytime," Brendan said smoothly, and the glint in his eye made Ste go warm all over.

::: :::

"I'm here, I'm here, what's the emergency?" Ste asked, breathless, rushing into the unit to find Doug standing over a tray of fish, eyebrows drawn.

"The McKinleys called about their event tomorrow. They want an extra three trays of salmon canapés."

Ste stared at him. "That's it?"

"I don't know how to make canapés!" Doug spluttered, throwing up his hands. "I can't do this one my own, Ste."

"For god's sake, Doug, is just canapés, half an hour's work…" Ste grumbled, but he threw on an apron anyway.

Doug breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you. I'm sorry I had to pull you in here."

Ste gave him a tight smile.

"How'd it go, anyway? He want us for another job?"

"Actually, no," Ste said, preening, reaching for a knife. "He wanted to ask me out on a date." When Doug said nothing, Ste added, "I'm taking him to that gig on Friday."

"What?" Doug said, his tone suddenly sharp. "I thought I was going with you!"

Ste swallowed, a heavy feeling pulling at his gut. He looked at Doug out the corner of his eye. "Uh, but when I asked you, you said you weren't sure if you had plans… So I kind of thought—"

"No, I wanted to go," Doug said, snipping the words out. "Guess I forgot to mention it."

"No, you know, if I already asked you, then I can just reschedule with Brendan, can't I?"

"I couldn't ask you to do that," Doug said, his words oddly careful.

Ste didn't _want_ to do that. But he'd known Doug a hell of a lot longer than Brendan, and he was a good friend. "It's fine, honestly."

"Well if you're sure," Doug said airily.

Ste wasn't, but what else could he do?

After a moment's hesitation, he got out his phone and typed up a text.

_Sorry, have to cancel Friday. Already agreed to go with someone else. Another time? Ste._

And later, when he hadn't received a reply, he mentioned it to Doug, who asked, "What did you say to him exactly?"

"That I already said I was going with someone else."

Doug snorted, smiled. "You made it sound like you had another date."

Ste's heart dropped, and he scrambled for his phone, getting flour everywhere as he tried to dig the phone out of his pocket. "Fuck, you're right. I need to explain what I meant. That it's not a date. I mean—it's only you, innit?"

Doug's smile fell. "Don't do that," he said, and Ste stalled in his motions, looking at the hard glint in Doug's eyes. "You don't want to look desperate."

The way he said _desperate_ had Ste reconsidering, confused. He wasn't sure it looked desperate to explain, but then he wasn't sure it _didn't_ either, and after all, Doug had a lot more experience in these things.

"Yeah, maybe you're right," he muttered, taking his hand out of his pocket.

He could always call Brendan tomorrow. Maybe.


	2. Chapter 2

—_pain, so much pain, shredding through his skin, sizzling, the smell of melting flesh and the screaming in his head, the piercing wail of agony, his own, breathless, desperate, help me, please, I don't want to die like this—_

Ste woke up with a start, chest tight, legs and arms and whole body shaking, trembling. He'd soaked the sheets through again, his pillows, sweat and tears. He could still hear the sound of his own scream ringing in his ears, echoing, haunting him. He got up and fell straight into the shower.

It didn't happen very often anymore, but it never left him. Would never leave him.

He took an extra pill that morning, just to be safe.

By the time he got to work, the tablets had worked their magic and he entered the unit smiling, thinking about what he was going to say to Brendan when he called him. Because he had to call him, had to explain. He wasn't going on a date with someone else. There was no one.

"Morning," Doug said, already there, like he always was. He gave Ste an appraising look. "You look bright this morning."

"I'm gonna call Brendan," Ste said, pulling his phone from his pocket.

"Ste, wait—"

His phone rang, and he and Doug both stared at it dumbly for a moment. "It's him," Ste said, and answered. "Hello?"

"Did you think you were getting rid of me that easily, Steven?" Brendan drawled, playful.

Ste grinned. "Look, about Friday. It's only Doug, innit. I just forgot I'd already asked him—"

Doug scowled and turned back to whatever he had been doing.

"It's fine," Brendan said, and the way he wrapped his mouth around the word made it sound like 'foine', smooth and sexy. "What are you doing for lunch today?"

"You're keen," Ste said, laughing a little, a frisson of excitement coiling in his belly.

"I don't like wasting time." Brendan's words were measured, carefully selected. "So what are you doing?"

"Seeing you, obviously," Ste said with another grin.

"Obviously."

They agreed to meet at one o'clock at a bistro farther along the high street, and Ste hung up feeling giddy and nervous and like he wanted to start talking about Brendan, ramble on about him, anything he could think of. But he didn't; instead he waited for Doug to speak first.

"So you're seeing him today?" He didn't sound annoyed, but he looked it. Back stiff, eyebrows drawn.

"Yeah, lunch. Is that okay? You don't need me here, do you?"

"No…" Doug sighed, turned to face Ste properly. "I just. I don't know if you're ready for this, Ste."

Ste's mood darkened instantly. "I'm fine. It's just lunch."

"But—"

"I said I'm fine, Doug. Don't nag."

Doug raised his hands, surrendering, but he spent the next hour shooting Ste troubled looks, which Ste point-blank ignored.

::: :::

Mitzeee was grinning at her phone. It made Brendan suspicious. Even more suspicious when she started blushing.

Mitzeee didn't blush. She was the ultimate alpha female. She made grown men blush. And quiver and swoon and fall at her feet. Even he'd been in danger of it on occasion. Girl knew how to work a man to her advantage.

He sauntered over to her, leaned his elbow against the bar beside where she sat. Stared at her face, tried to catch a glance of her phone.

"Mind your own," she said, tilting the phone out of his eyeline.

He raised his eyebrows. "So it's all right for you to know every detail of my life."

"Your life would fall apart without me and you know it."

"Debateable," he murmured, although she was probably half right. He watched her tapping away on her phone, the curiosity clawing at him. "I'll be gone for a couple of hours this afternoon."

"Hot date?" she asked vaguely, distracted.

He smirked. "Mind your own."

"Whatever," she said, hopping down off the bar stool. "I need the night off."

"What for?"

She shot him a cheeky look. "You're not the only one with a love life, sunshine."

"Hey," he said, following her as she wandered off. He put a hand on her shoulder to stop her and turn her around. "You seeing someone?"

She considered him. "I might be."

"Who?"

"Never you mind," she said, tapping him on the nose. "You don't know him."

He stopped her from walking off again, grabbed her wrist. She sighed and looked at him with impatience.

"Is he… He's a decent guy, yeah?"

"Well that's what I'll be finding out tonight, isn't it?" She patted his cheek and broke away from his hold, walked away. "I'm not in the market for a protective big brother, Brendan," she shot over her shoulder.

"Just be careful!"

He worried about her. He had no idea why—she was more than capable of looking after herself. But she attracted a lot of attention, and not always the best kind. It only took one psycho…

Not his problem. Not right now, anyway. He had his own business to deal with.

Not that Steven was _business._

He went home a while later, looking to shower and change out of his suit and into something less formal. He didn't want Steven to always think of him as the suited-up businessman. There was another side to him, the side that could take Steven to lunch and ask him about his day and kiss him, perhaps, if the moment was right. He just had to remember how to switch off the work mode.

He entered his apartment to find a sight he'd rather not see. Declan, enthusiastically necking with his latest girlfriend. Right across the couch, the couch Brendan sat on and ate his dinner on and put his feet up on after a long night at work.

"Jesus," he said, making sure to shut the front door hard enough behind him that Declan and the girl sprang apart, panting and embarrassed. Fortunately they were both fully dressed, although the girl did have a rather large and unpleasant red mark on her neck, resembling the shape of his son's mouth.

"You serious, Deccy? Why aren't you at college?"

"Home for lunch," Declan muttered, looking anywhere but at Brendan. The girl was almost purple with embarrassment, huddled in the corner of the couch, gaze firmly on the floor.

Brendan dropped his keys on the counter and shrugged off his jacket. "You've got a bedroom for this kind of thing," he said, because it wasn't that he was against his son getting his kicks, not really, he was old enough now—Brendan just didn't want to ever see it.

The girl let out the tiniest meep.

"Jesus, Dad, shut up," Declan said. "Why are _you_ here?"

Brendan snorted. "Right, try that again when you're paying the mortgage." He hung his jacket over the back of one of the dining chairs and crossed the room, glaring at them enough to make Declan squirm and the girl to go from purple to deathly pale at an alarming rate. "I'm getting a shower. Try to behave yourselves."

"What, why?" Declan asked, scrambling off the couch and catching his dad by the door. "Why are you showering in the middle of the day? What's going on?" He gave Brendan an assessing look.

"Not that I have to explain myself to my teenage delinquent of a son," Brendan said, sighing, "but I'm meeting someone for lunch."

A grin spread across Declan's face. "Meeting someone as in…a date?"

Brendan scowled, opened the door. "None of your business, kid."

"It is, isn't it?" Declan followed him into the hallway and trailed him all the way to the bathroom door, voice full of barely suppressed glee. "You've got a date!"

"Shut up, Declan."

Declan crowed with laughter. "It's about damn time, old man. I was starting to think you were, like…deficient or something."

Brendan slammed the bathroom door on his smirking face.

After he'd showered and preened and got dressed again, he tapped on some aftershave and looked at himself in the mirror. Sometimes, on dark days, he didn't like what he saw, the man staring back at him. Other times, like today, he could look himself in the eye and smile, and mean it, and assess his own looks. He wasn't blind to his own appeal.

"Dad," Declan said, knocking on the door. "Warren's here."

Brendan sighed. Warren was always here. In sentimental moments, Brendan might call him his best friend. Most times he was the pain in the arse who never left. He owned a club a few streets over—technically competition for Brendan, but different clientele, so the issue never really came up. But the club's proximity to Brendan's apartment meant Warren took full advantage of his visitation rights, rights that Brendan had been tempted to revoke many times.

Brendan left the bedroom, busy securing his watch around his wrist as he entered the kitchen to find Warren helping himself to his biscuit jar. "S'up, Foxy?"

Warren shrugged. "Nothing. Bored. What're you up to?"

"Got a lunch meeting." It wasn't that Brendan didn't trust Warren with the details of his personal life—he just didn't want to deal with having the piss taken out of him.

"Boring," Warren remarked, nibbling on a digestive. "How's your Mitzeee?"

"Seeing someone."

"What? Since when?" He didn't look happy with the information. Brendan knew he wouldn't.

"Since, I don't know, half an hour ago I guess. Forget it," he said, dipping his own hand in the jar, looking for a chocolate bourbon. "We still on for poker this weekend?"

"Yeah, if you fancy me cleaning you out again."

Brendan snorted. "Last time that happened was the spring of oh-four and I was wasted on that knock-off tequila you were flogging."

"Whatever," said Warren, going for a garibaldi now. "Make us a cuppa."

"Can't. Leaving."

Warren tutted. "What am I meant to do now?"

"Jog on," said Brendan, flashing his teeth.

Declan edged into the kitchen. "We're heading back to college now. Can I have some money for the bus?"

"I'll give you a lift," Warren said, grabbing one last biscuit before closing the jar.

"Thanks. Dad, money," Declan prompted, hand out.

Brendan raised his eyebrows at Declan sceptically. "He just said he's giving you a lift."

"Yeah," Declan said, impatience in his tone, "but I still want money."

Brendan sighed and reached for his wallet. "Bleed me dry, you will," he said, slapping a tenner onto Declan's palm.

Warren held up a hand. "Where's mine?"

"You can swivel for it."

Declan grinned at them both. "Did Dad tell you he's got a lunch date?" Then he ducked out of the kitchen, the little prick.

"What's this?" Warren asked, obviously delighted by this information.

Brendan tucked his wallet back into this pocket, his stomach squirming. "It's nothing, keep your nose out."

"Hey," Warren said, nudging his arm. "Call me after, yeah? Let me know how it goes."

"I know," said Brendan with fake cheer. "Let's have a sleepover. We can wear face masks and plait our hair and—"

"Talk about boys," Warren said, grinning. "Seriously, mate. I'm pleased for you." He pointed at Brendan's crotch. "I thought that thing had shrivelled up and fallen off by now."

"I've never been celibate, Foxy."

Declan poked his head back into the kitchen, said, "We're gonna be late."

"All right, keep your tits on," Warren told him. "Brady," he said to Brendan, smirking. "Make me proud." Then he winked and left.

Brendan groaned into the sudden silence of the kitchen.

::: :::

"Are you sure I can't get you anything while you're waiting?" the waiter asked Ste for the second time. He was grinning at him expectantly. Kind of good looking, in that young, twinkish kind of way. Not Ste's type at all, but he could see an appeal.

"It's not that he's late," he said awkwardly, feeling the need to explain himself. He didn't like the idea of anyone thinking he'd been stood up. "I'm just early."

"Right, okay…" The waiter nodded. "Just give me a shout if you change your mind." He didn't look convinced.

Ste checked the time on his phone again. Why had he arrived so early? He'd had some idea about traffic, finding a table during the lunchtime rush, not keeping Brendan waiting. Only now he'd been sat here for fifteen minutes, and Brendan still had another five before he was due to arrive.

He contemplated leaving the restaurant and coming back a few minutes past one o'clock, some attempt to not look desperate. But the idea was taken out of his hands when Brendan entered, looking around for him. It was the first time Ste had seen him out of his suit—he wore black jeans, a long-sleeved black top bunched at the forearms just below his elbows, the collar a small, dipping vee. A chain hung around his neck, the cross lying against his chest, and he was wearing a pair of dark sunglasses which he removed when he spotted Ste, tucked them onto the neck of his top.

"Hey," he said when he reached the table. He pulled out the chair and sat down. "You been waiting long?"

"No," Ste lied.

Brendan was placed perfectly in front of the window, sunlight spilling over him, highlighting his eyes and the cut of his jaw. He really was a good-looking man. Ste would have been able to see that even if he'd been straight. He couldn't fathom why he was still single. Men like Brendan didn't stay off the market for long.

He might ask him, one day. If this went that far.

"I haven't got long," Ste said, watching Brendan reach for a menu. "I've got a delivery coming at two and Doug's had to go meet a client."

Brendan glanced at his watch. "An hour."

Well, forty-five minutes, really. He needed time to drive back to the unit.

"Better order quick then," Brendan said, looking around for a waiter. "D'you know what you're having?"

He'd had plenty of time to study the menu, although he wasn't going to admit that—he grabbed a menu and scanned the dishes, made himself look as though he was trying to decide. "Just a salad, I think."

Brendan raised an eyebrow at him.

Ste laughed. "All right, fine, I'll have the burger."

"Good lad," Brendan said. "Wine?"

"Uh…"

"Live a little," Brendan said, eyes twinkling. When Ste smiled and nodded, he opened the wine menu, bottom lip caught between his teeth. Ste stared at him, didn't even care what wine he ended up drinking. Just wanted to sit there and look at Brendan a while, learn the lines and angles of his face. "Hey, excuse me," Brendan said, startling Ste out of his reverie. Brendan was beckoning the waiter over.

"Yes, gentleman, what can I get you?" He poised his pen over the pad.

"A bottle of the sauvignon blanc," Brendan said, "and—"

"Brendan!" said the waiter suddenly. Both Ste and Brendan looked up at him in surprise. The waiter was gazing at Brendan with recognition.

Brendan's eyes widened. "Uh, hey…"

"Daniel."

"Daniel, right." Brendan gave a tight smile. "Didn't know you worked here," he said, his tone weird, glancing at Ste briefly.

"Just started a couple of weeks ago." Daniel, the waiter, had an edge of excitement in his voice. "Haven't seen you in a while."

"Well I'm a busy man."

Daniel cut a look at Ste then, something darker filtering into his eyes. "I can see that."

"This is nice," Brendan said. He sounded a little manic. "Nice catch-up. Can we order?"

"Yep," Daniel said, snappish. He put his pen to pad, no longer smiling. "Go for it."

He left, glowering, after they ordered, and Brendan breathed out, looking at Ste awkwardly.

"It's all right," Ste said, feeling uneasy. "I get it."

"Get what?" Brendan tapped his hand against the table. He looked as though he wanted to escape.

"You and him. You had a thing."

Brendan huffed a weird, strained laugh. "Nah. Nah. It wasn't a thing. It was—" He stopped, shook his head, leaned forward to get closer to Ste. "Look, I honestly had no idea he worked here. I wouldn't have suggested—"

"I said it's fine," Ste repeated, and he supposed it was. Naturally Brendan was going to have a past, other men, people he'd been with and been close to. Ste was nowhere near in any position to take offence, and he didn't really want to. So far, to him, Brendan was just a guy. He wasn't putting any weight on this. He wasn't that stupid.

"Forget him." Brendan visibly shook it off, rolled his shoulders, hitched a smile onto his face and stayed leaning forward, forearms on the table, hands clasped in the middle, inches from Ste's own. Ste presumed that from an outsider's perspective, this would look quite intimate. It relaxed him and he returned Brendan's smile.

"So," Ste said, feeling bolder now, back to his usual self. "You've got me here."

"Could've done with more than an hour, though."

Ste grimaced. "Yeah, sorry. Not the most ideal first date, is it?" He said it without thinking, and now he flinched, internally, waiting for Brendan to brush it off, laugh maybe. _This isn't a date, Steven, it's just lunch_.

"We'll make the most of it," Brendan murmured, his smile curling into something promising.

Warmth pooled in Ste's stomach. Then a bottle of wine plonked down on the table beside him. Daniel was back.

"This one, sir?" he asked, showing Brendan the label, giving him a sassy scowl as he did so.

"It's fine, just pour it."

They really should have gone somewhere else as soon as Brendan realised who Daniel was. It would have saved all the awkwardness Daniel was determined to spill over them.

Daniel did as instructed, pouring into both glasses, not even apologising when he spilt a little. "Your food will be out shortly. Enjoy, _sir_." It was like Ste didn't really exist.

Ste gave an uncomfortable laugh once Daniel left. "He's really not happy with you, is he? What d'you do?"

"Nothing." He smiled mirthlessly. "Maybe that's the problem."

Ste didn't entirely believe him, but he wasn't going to push it.

"Just forget he's there," Brendan said. He extended a finger from his clasped hands and brushed it ever so briefly against the back of Ste's knuckle. "Tell me something about yourself, Steven."

Ste laughed. "Is this an interview?"

"I'm interested." He took his glass and tapped it against Ste's. "Humour me," he said before taking a sip.

"All right, well…" God, why did he have to be so uninteresting? He couldn't think of anything to say, nothing that would make him sound exciting in any way. "Uh…well I'm from Manchester, originally."

"Yeah, I figured that out," Brendan said, smiling. "What brought you down here?"

Ste shrugged. "I dunno really. Just left home, wanted to get away." He wasn't prepared to go into any more detail. Brendan didn't push it.

"And you've always been into cooking?"

"Yeah, kind of, I guess. I was more into knocking about and getting into trouble, back in the day."

Brendan smirked. "Weren't we all."

"I've got kids," Ste blurted, then felt himself colour instantly. Brendan raised his eyebrows—clearly, he hadn't been expecting that. "I thought… I thought you should know," he added lamely.

When Brendan didn't say anything, Ste couldn't help but ramble on.

"They're only young, mind. Boy and a girl. I see them a couple of times a month." He took his glass, needed something to do with his hands. "They live with their mum in Manchester."

Brendan stared at him, stroking the side of his glass with his finger. "I've got two boys," he said. "Declan, the oldest, lives here with me. He's going to college over here. Paddy still lives with my wife in Ireland."

Ste swallowed. "Wife?"

"Ex-wife," Brendan clarified. Then he smiled. "You weren't the only one who took a while to figure things out."

They had this in common, at least. It wasn't that Ste had been particularly worried, not this early, but there was truth in it. He and Brendan couldn't have been more different. Except this. They had this now. And maybe that meant they'd have something else.

He took a sip of his drink, holding Brendan's gaze over the rim of his glass.

Brendan's phone started ringing. He tutted, irritated, and pulled it out of his pocket. Ste got the impression not too many people bothered Brendan when he was busy.

"Ah, I have to take this actually," he said, looking at the screen. "Give me two minutes?"

Ste nodded, watched Brendan leave, head outside to take the call. He planned to spend the two minutes daydreaming about what he and Brendan might do together later, or tomorrow, or any other day—only Daniel, the ever-present waiter, had other ideas.

"Your burger," he said, dropping the plate none-too-gracefully in front of Ste, then Brendan's plate opposite. "Enjoy."

"Wait," Ste said, catching the edge of Daniel's sleeve before he could leave.

He had no idea what compelled him, why he thought this was a good idea. But if he ever wanted to find out something about Brendan, and not from Brendan himself, then this was his best chance right now. It wasn't as though he could march into the wine bar and start interrogating Mitzeee.

"Can I help you with something else?" Daniel asked, staring pointedly at Ste's hold on his sleeve until Ste snatched his hand away, embarrassed.

"Sorry, I just—you and Brendan."

Daniel narrowed his eyes. "What about me and Brendan?"

"I know this awkward," Ste said, swallowing. "I swear I had no idea—I mean, this is my first time out with him."

Something like understanding, and the hard glint of something worrying, filtered into Daniel's eyes. "Ah," he said, and he didn't seem so annoyed with Ste now.

"What?"

Daniel considered him. Then, glancing around, he perched on the edge of Brendan's seat, leaning forward conspiratorially. "This is what he does," he said in a hushed voice. "It's what he did to me and all the others before. He's got form for it. All you have to do is ask around about his reputation…"

"What do you mean?" Ste asked, although he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know.

"He takes you out on a small date," Daniel said. "Then he gets you over to his place for dinner. And then you…"

"Fuck?" Ste prompted frankly.

Daniel nodded. "Yeah. And you never hear from him again." He huffed, rolled his eyes. "Thought I was different. Felt different. Like he was really interested." Giving Ste a stern, sideways look, he added, "He never is. Not really."

Ste licked his lips, glanced at the door as it opened. It wasn't Brendan, but some elderly couple.

"Look, I have to get back to work," Daniel said, getting up. He smiled awkwardly at Ste. "I didn't mean to bring you on a downer. But, well"—he shrugged—"you did ask."

Ste didn't, not really, but he got the point.

He had another minute to think things over, and he came to one conclusion: it didn't matter. Not now. Who knew what Brendan's intentions were? For all Ste knew, and for all Daniel knew, Ste really _was_ different. Brendan was certainly taking a lot of interest for someone planning to fuck and run.

But then, that was how he probably made them all feel special, like they were the one to break Brendan of this habit, to make a go of it. Why should Ste be any different? There was nothing special about him. Nothing that would make him stand out from the rest.

Or was there? Ste glanced at Daniel across the restaurant. Brendan definitely had a type—young, slim, blond. Ste fell right into line. Right now, he was Daniel MK2. Or maybe they were all versions of the same ideal in Brendan's eyes.

Maybe he was making a big deal out of nothing. This was just a lunch date, and he should enjoy it for what it was.

It wasn't as if he had any intentions of falling for the man.

::: :::

Brendan went back into the restaurant to find his food on the table and Steven smiling at him, all golden skin and white teeth and the ability to knock the wind out of Brendan's chest with one look.

"I didn't want to start without ya," Steven said. "But hurry up, it's getting cold."

Brendan sat down, unwrapped his knife and fork from the napkin. "Sorry about that. It was my business manager. He sulks if I don't answer."

Steven raised an eyebrow, dumping half a bottle of ketchup over his chips. "Problem?"

"No. No. Just—" He hesitated, on the verge of withholding such private information. Then he took the salt Steven offered him and smiled. "There's this other wine bar on the opposite side of town. The owner's looking to sell up and emigrate." He stuck a chip in his mouth and spoke as he chewed. "Thinking of buying it."

"Really?" Ste said, attempting to get a good grip on the giant burger. "Will you have time to run another bar?"

"There's always time for work, Steven," Brendan said, the words tasting dry in his mouth.

They didn't get much talking done while attempting to make their way through the giant burgers and mountain of chips in the twenty or so minutes they had remaining. Brendan managed to ask Steven a little more about his business—he did all the cooking, hated paperwork—and Steven teasingly pressed him on his relationship with Mitzeee, to which Brendan confirmed unequivocally that yes, Mitzeee was a stunning woman, but no, he'd never dipped his pen in that particular company inkwell. It looked as though Steven wanted to ask what _other _company inkwells he'd dipped in, but he refrained, and the conversation moved on.

After, following a mini argument about paying the cheque—"Put your money away, Steven, you're gonna insult me now"—they stepped out together onto the street and came to a stop by the restaurant entrance, looking at each other.

"So—" Steven said, but was abruptly interrupted by a woman knocking into his side and nearly sending him flying.

"Sorry, sorry," the woman gushed as Brendan helped steady Steven. "Blind as the day as I was born—Ste! Oh my goodness!"

Steven blinked at her, and then, weirdly, burned instantly red. "Hi, Gloria."

It seemed this was the day for awkward encounters on all sides.

The woman—Gloria, apparently—was nearing middle-aged, wearing a nurse's uniform, and looking at Ste in wonderment. "I can't believe—how _are_ you?"

"I'm fine," Ste muttered, clearly highly uncomfortable. Brendan frowned at him, at Gloria. "I'm fine. I can't stop, sorry."

"No, wait," Gloria said desperately, stopping Steven from moving on. "I just haven't seen you for so long. How are—I mean, you look so much better, love. So much better."

"Thanks," said Steven. He gave Brendan a guarded glance. "I really have to go, Gloria, I'm sorry."

"Yeah, okay." A crease developed between her eyebrows. "But you'll come see me soon, yes? I mean, you really shouldn't have stopped—"

"Maybe, yeah," Steven said in a rush. He took the hem of Brendan's top between his fingers and gave a light tug. "C'mon, let's go."

Brendan offered Gloria a smile as Ste led him away, down the street, until they came to a stop outside a book shop.

"Steven—"

"So I had a nice time," Steven said loudly, overly bright, rounding on him and smiling. "Maybe we can do it again."

"Steven, listen—"

"It's fine, Brendan," Steven said, his tone darkening. "Don't worry about it." _It's none of your business_.

Brendan could leave it. For now. But he already knew it was going to play on his mind, that look of panic Steven had had in his eyes when he recognised the woman, the way he had looked at Brendan, tried to get away from the situation. Something wasn't right.

Steven took his phone and looked at the screen. "I really have to get going. I'm gonna be late for that delivery."

"Okay," Brendan said, nodding, trying to brush aside his concern. "Can I drive you back?"

Steven pointed a thumb over his shoulder. "Brought me own car, didn't I?" He stepped closer, touched Brendan's hip with the tips of his fingers, the lightest of contact. "I had a really nice time though," he said, eyes brighter now, looking up at Brendan.

Brendan wanted to kiss him, wanted to lean forward and press his lips to Steven's and discover Steven's taste, if only for a moment. But they were in the middle of the high street during the lunch time rush, dozens if not hundreds of people walking past them, up and down the street, in and out the shops, hurried and flustered and no, not the ideal location for a first kiss, not by any stretch of the imagination. Steven looked as if he'd come to the same conclusion. He gave a soft smile and stepped back, rolling his eyes a little.

"I'm busy for the next couple of days," Brendan said, "but why don't you come to mine on Sunday evening? I'll make you dinner."

It was like someone had switched off the light. Steven's eyes clouded over, his face shifting into something dark. "Dinner at yours."

"Yeah…" Brendan said, uncertain now.

"I can't," Steven said, stepping off the curb and into the road. "I'm busy." He raised his hand, a half-hearted wave. "I'll call you though."

"Steven—" said Brendan, confused, moving to follow him. But Steven was already on the other side of the road, lunch time traffic separating them.

"Thanks for lunch!" Steven called over to him. Then he disappeared into the crowd.


	3. Chapter 3

Ste awoke to a text from Brendan. It said, simply:

_Call me. ~ Brendan B._

Ste didn't. It wasn't that he was angry with Brendan, or annoyed. He just had no intention of becoming yet another notch on Brendan's bedpost. But he was disappointed. It had felt, however briefly, like it could have been the start of something. Although that was probably how all of Brendan's conquests felt beforehand. It seemed to be his MO—reel them in with flirting and attention and interest, conquer the challenge, and then throw it away. The only difference between Ste and all the others was that he'd had a warning and listened to it, had too much self-respect to just go along with Brendan's sordid plan.

These days he found it difficult enough to express any kind of intimacy, without being discarded the next morning, yesterday's trash.

But the disappointment rested heavily in his gut. He _liked_ Brendan, perhaps too much for someone who was still basically a stranger to him. He was drawn to Brendan, and he was attracted to Brendan, and he'd felt like he had the opportunity to trust him, someone new.

More fool him.

His musings over breakfast were interrupted by the arrival of the post. A postcard from Amy—she'd taken the kids to Southend for a few days, and the card spoke of rollerskating and the pier and dodgy seafront cafes. The kids had written their own names at the bottom, added a few kisses, and Ste smiled at it, stuck it on his fridge.

He sifted through the rest of the post—electric bill, something from the council, an offer to save on his broadband service. And then, tucked at the back of the pile, beneath the junkmail and daily takeaway menus, was a stark-white envelope emblazoned with the _Fontroy & Kane _logo.

His solicitor.

He stared at the envelope for minutes, long enough for the kettle to boil and go cold. Then he slipped the envelope in a drawer, unopened and unread, next to all the untouched letters from the hospital.

::: :::

Brendan checked his phone for the fiftieth time and shoved it back into his pocket irritably.

Steven Hay, in the space of just a few days, had reduced him to a teenage girl.

"What are you grumbling to yourself about?" Mitzeee asked, heels click-clacking across the floor as she went from one end of the room to the other, trailing bits of glitter in her wake. They were hosting a hen party this evening, and there was girly shit everywhere.

"Nothing," he said, taking another sip of whiskey. It was too early to drink, but fuck it. There had to be a reason the universe made him a bar owner.

"My date went very well, thanks for asking. Nice fella. You'd like him."

"Great," he said, and then was hit with a spike of indignation. "Wait, it's not as if you asked about my date, either. So get off your high horse."

She rounded on him and held up a finger. "Uh, I think you'll find I did. This morning when you came in. I think your response was—and I might be paraphrasing here—_'None of your goddamn business, Mitzeee, now get out of my office'_." Her attempt at his accent was shockingly impressive.

"That sounds vaguely familiar," he conceded, bringing the glass to his lips.

The door opened, and Brendan looked at it hopefully. Then wanted to kick himself for acting so stupid. Turned out it was only Warren anyway.

"Ladies," he said, grinning around the gum he was chewing.

Mitzeee rolled her eyes. "Yay, Warren," she muttered to herself, heavy sarcasm lacing her tone.

"Mitzeee," Warren greeted her. He hitched himself up on a barstool beside Brendan. "Looking rough as ever. You should do something about that hair," he added, nodding at her perfectly styled and silky mane.

"I will," Mitzeee said, smiling at him angelically. "Just as soon as you do something about that face, chubs."

The arrogance fell out of Warren's expression. "Chubs? You saying I'm getting fat?"

"No," she said, raising a hand, the picture of innocence. "No, I wouldn't say you're _getting_ fat at all, Warren."

"Eh?" Warren looked down at himself, then over at Brendan. "Am I getting fat?"

Mitzeee smirked and wandered off into the office.

"I wouldn't like to say, Foxy," Brendan murmured, swirling the whiskey around in his glass. "Why don't you ask your chins?"

Warren scowled at him. "My chins say go fuck yourself."

"Burn," Brendan drawled, quirking an eyebrow. "What do you want?"

"What's got your tits in a knot?"

"You've got a real way with words, Foxy, anyone ever tell you that?"

"Date not go well?" Warren asked, smiling slyly.

Brendan sighed and downed the rest of his drink. "I don't wanna talk about it."

Warren chuckled. "All right, princess. Get back to me when you're off the rag." He took the bottle of whiskey from beside Brendan, then reached for a glass behind the bar.

"Help yourself, why don't you," Brendan said, watching him lazily.

"Thanks, I will." Warren poured himself a drink, topping up Brendan's while he was at it. "Just came in here to give you a head's up, actually."

"About?"

"Your Declan."

Brendan huffed a sigh. "What's he done now?"

"Called me. Wants me to cover for him when he tells you he's staying at mine tonight."

"And what's he really doing?"

"Taking that bird of his to some all-night rave."

Brendan rolled his eyes. "Didn't even know raves were still a thing." He sat up straight, his back cracking with the movement. Jesus, he was getting old. "Should I be worried?"

"Nah," Warren said, taking a sip of his drink. "Just your standard student party. Bit of weed, maybe."

No worse than what he got up to in his youth. Compared to Brendan's formative years, Declan was in line for a sainthood. As far as he was aware, anyway. He'd made a conscious effort to stay out of Declan's business; so far, with a bit of Warren's questionable help, he was succeeding.

"Brendan," Mitzeee said, coming out of the office carrying a clipboard. "We still need to sort out a caterer for that engagement party next month. Any preference?" She smiled up at him, then over at Warren. "You're still here then."

He grinned at her. "Did you miss me, sweetheart?"

"Like acne," she said. "Brendan?"

Brendan had already perked up, sensing an opportunity, a plan forming in the edges of his mind. "I'll deal with it."

"Eh?" she said, frowning at him. "You hate dealing with contractors."

"It's fine, I've got this one." He hopped off his stool and approached her, holding out his hand. "Give me the details."

The look she gave him said she'd already figured him out. She handed him the file anyway, warily. "Don't do anything stupid, Brendan."

"Me?" He grinned. "Never."

::: :::

Ste had a headache. Bizarrely, pounding the bread dough seemed to be helping. It was cathartic. The solicitor's letter—_pound_. The mountain of tablets he'd had to take this morning—_pound_. Brendan fucking Brady—_pound_. All his problems, his worries, his concerns, all absorbed by this innocent lump of dough, happily taking its punishment for existing in this moment, just as Ste needed to let out some frustration.

"You all right there, Ste?" Doug asked, edging up to him warily. "You're gonna punch your way through the counter in a minute."

Ste tutted, flipped over the dough and worked his knuckles into it. "Don't be dramatic."

"Weren't you the one who's always telling me to take it easy on the dough?"

"What of it?" Ste snapped. "You just come over here to nag? 'Cause I don't need it, right."

"All right, fine." Doug paused, watching Ste's hands work for a few moments. "Is it Brendan?"

Ste scowled down at the bread. "No, Doug, it's not Brendan. It's not anything."

"Because I'm just saying," Doug continued delicately. He was standing so close that Ste could feel his breath on the side of his face. It suffocated him. "You don't seem all that happy after your…date yesterday."

"It wasn't a date. It was lunch," Ste muttered. "And it's over now anyway."

"Over?" Doug's voice had risen an octave. "Already?" When Ste's response was nothing more than irritably dumping some extra flour over the bread, Doug added, "And you're fine with that, are you?"

"'Course I'm fine with it. Why wouldn't I be fine with it? It's not like I'm in love with the guy, Doug," he said bitterly. It was true, but the sudden end of the future possibility still settled heavily in his gut. "I've had longer relationships with a Werther's Original."

"Okay…" Doug said slowly. He was talking as if he didn't want to risk spooking Ste and having him bolt. "As long as you're—"

"Yes, Doug, I'm fine. Stop going on. I don't care about Brendan Brady, okay? I've barely even thought about him."

Not even a little bit true, but anything to get Doug off his back—almost literally. If the guy stood any closer, Ste would be wearing him. He usually liked having Doug around, filling the silence with mindless chatter and keeping his mind clear and distracted. But right now he wished he would go away, that everything would just go away.

"Hope I'm not interrupting," came a deep, drawling voice from behind them.

Ste's heart leapt into his throat and he spun around so quickly, it was a wonder he didn't get whiplash.

Brendan was standing there, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, one eyebrow raised, looking for all the world like he'd been there a while, happily eavesdropping.

Ste swallowed past the dryness in his throat.

::: :::

Brendan couldn't say it didn't affect him. No man liked to hear he was completely insignificant to the one person he had a genuine interest in. It didn't sit well with him, and the confrontational side of him—the _dangerous _side of him—wanted nothing more than to march forward and demand to know why Steven had been wasting his time if he'd not really been that bothered from the start.

It stung, if he was honest.

But he wasn't here for that. Initially, yes, this was supposed to be his way back in, to getting Steven back onside so that they might move forward, see if they could take this _thing_ beyond small talk and heated looks.

Turned out there was no thing, at least not for Steven.

He smiled at the look of surprise and guilt on Steven's face. A smile he was sure looked ugly.

"My Brady," Douglas said, because apparently Steven was incapable of speaking. "We didn't see you there."

"Clearly." He said it pointedly, looking at Steven, who swallowed and glanced at the floor, unable to meet Brendan's eye.

"How did you get in here?"

"Door was unlocked," Brendan said, dismissive.

Douglas cast Steven a look that clearly said the unlocked door was Steven's fault. Brendan didn't like that. It niggled at him.

"With all due respect, Mr Brady, you can't just—"

"Stop with the 'Mr Brady'," Brendan bit out. "You make me sound like my father. It's Brendan."

"All right. Brendan." Douglas squared his shoulders. "We'd prefer it if you didn't just walk in unannounced. We don't take client meetings here." The glint in his eyes was hard. "That's if you're here for that. A meeting. As a client." His tone was leading, trying to imply what he couldn't say. Smart one, this Douglas. They both looked at Steven then, who was now gazing up at Brendan through his lashes. He still didn't seem inclined to speak, but the surprise had faded off his face, leaving a blank expression. Unreadable. Brendan gritted his teeth.

"Why else would I be here?"

Silence fell on them for a moment, during which Brendan stared at Steven and Steven stared at Brendan and Douglas…did whatever the fuck he did. Brendan didn't care.

But then Douglas stepped into his eyeline, almost blocking Steven from view. Brendan wasn't stupid. He knew what was going through Douglas' mind.

"Then what can we help you with?"

"I've got an event," Brendan said, slowly, carefully. "In just over four weeks. I need a caterer. Think you're…" He gave Douglas' body a long, roaming look, top to bottom and back up again. "…up to the job?"

Douglas opened his mouth, but it was Steven who spoke, stepping out from behind Douglas and projecting some newfound confidence. "We'll do it."

Douglas whipped his head round to look at him. "Ste—"

"He's our best-paying client," Steven said, nodding in Brendan's direction. "We need the gig."

"Yeah, but—"

"We'll set up a meeting for next week," Steven told Brendan. "At your bar. What day suits you?" He was speaking in such a way that Brendan half expected to hear _Mr Brady? _come out of his mouth next. Polite, overly formal. Businesslike.

Brendan's skin itched with the need to ask him what the fuck he'd been playing at. His hands burned with the desire to touch him, in any way. Brush his fingers against those golden cheekbones. Grab the back of his head and pull him in.

He cleared his throat. "Monday."

"I can't do Monday," Douglas interjected. He didn't look happy. "I'm booked up with meetings all day. We'll have to make it another—"

"I can," Steven said. "I can do Monday." Brendan would deny until the day he died the thrill that shot through his body in that moment.

Douglas cast Steven a look that was half annoyance, half worry. "You don't do client meetings, Ste."

"He said he'll do it," Brendan murmured. "I can't do any other day," he added for good measure, because he wasn't letting this go now.

Douglas looked as though he were chewing on his tongue, eyes clouded. Then he sighed and rubbed his forehead. "No, it's fine. I can move some things around."

"Doug, I said I'll do it. Stop being stupid."

"You don't even know the price structure," Douglas dismissed him, fingertips at his temple, thinking. "Let's say two-thirty at your bar, Mr Brady, all right?"

The _Mr Brady_, Brendan was sure, was on purpose.

"Fine," Brendan bit out, because he couldn't see how to avoid making a scene here without just going along with it. Besides, he could already see a storm building in Steven's eyes, the way he stared at Douglas, clearly ready for a fight. "Don't be late," he said, and left as swiftly and quietly as he arrived.

He had a feeling he'd be seeing Steven on Monday anyway. The thought had him whistling as he unlocked his car and climbed in.

::: :::

Ste had bitten his tongue all day. Doug, conveniently, had a meeting with a supplier five minutes after Brendan vanished, and so left Ste to stew in his own anger. And the hour they actually spent working together later in the afternoon had been full of awkward silence and the sounds of knives against chopping boards. The first time anyone spoke was when Doug, putting his jacket on to leave for the day, said, "Pick you up in an hour?" And Ste suddenly remembered the gig they were attending that evening.

He wasn't in the mood for it now, but he already had the tickets and had already made the plans, and as angry as he was with Doug right now, he knew deep down that Doug was only looking out for him, always concerned about his best interests.

He nodded, and attempted to return the smile Doug offered him as he left.

Ste's head was in a spin. He didn't know what he was doing, what he even _wanted _to do. All he knew was that he hadn't been able to let Brendan leave the unit without some plan for the future, something that said _I'll be seeing you again, this isn't the end_.

The end of what, he didn't know, but he had to find out for himself. If Daniel had been right. If Ste was marked down as Brendan's next one-night conquest.

Only one thing was for certain: Ste fancied him. Fancied him like no other man before. Was so attracted to him that he felt jolts of desire in places he didn't even know existed, all the way down to his bones and through his veins and god, that man, he just _did things_ to him, things he hadn't felt in so, so long. Didn't think he'd be able to feel for another man ever again.

He'd only needed to see him again to realise that.

And if nothing else, Brendan deserved his gratitude for that. His very presence had awoken Ste, lit a fire inside him, when for so long he feared he'd be this empty, numb thing for the rest of his miserable life.

He still knew how to desire, to lust. And right now he desired Brendan.

Halfway through the gig, when Doug was a little loose from alcohol and the kind of endorphin release only music could give you, Ste leaned over to him and said, "I'm going to that meeting on Monday."

Doug looked at him, his expression unreadable. "You wanna come with me?"

"No." Ste shook his head. "I'm going alone."

"Ste—"

"No," Ste said, holding up his hand. "I don't wanna have a row about it, Doug."

Doug's eyes softened marginally, although the corners of his mouth were tense. "I'm not looking to argue. I just think…"

"I know. You think I'm not ready. You're worried about me." He smiled, feeling an alcohol-induced surge of fondness for his best friend. "But you don't need to be. Honestly. I'm fine, right. And I'm not going there to throw myself at him, am I?" His smile stretched into a grin. "I'm going for a meeting. And after…I don't know. Maybe we'll talk. Eh? Can't hurt, can it?"

Doug stared at him, said nothing for a long moment. "What is it about this guy, Ste? You barely know him."

Ste shrugged. "I dunno. I just… There's just something. I can't explain it."

After considering him for a few seconds, Doug sighed and reached for his beer bottle, eyes full of thunder and mouth drawn tight.

Ste smiled. He knew he'd won. Doug didn't look anything close to happy, and he gave off vibes that said he'd quite like to argue about it actually, but he didn't, and that was enough for Ste.

He bopped his head to the music, and started singing along to the band.

::: :::

Brendan's weekend passed painfully slowly. He ran for miles on Saturday morning, pounded the pavement and worked up a sweat, attempting to clear his head. His thoughts were more twisted than ever after, and he had a long, leisurely wank in the shower, thinking of golden skin, sharp eyes and that tight, lithe body.

Later that day he played a few hands of poker with the boys—the boys consisting of Warren, Darren, and Darren's dad. Brendan liked Darren, in much the same way he would appreciate a puppy, but he'd never been too sure about his dad. Jack had calculating eyes and a tone that bordered on judgemental, and he seemed to only come to these things to nag Darren about not betting too high, not really enjoying himself.

Declan staggered in midway through, looking hungover and tired and pale. "Look what the cat dragged in," Brendan drawled at him. Declan cut him a sardonic look. "Did you have fun at Uncle Foxy's?"

"Oh yeah," Warren said, when Declan's face filled with panic. "We ate ice cream and made brownies and watched Titanic—"

"Good film, that," Darren interjected, and they all stared at him.

After, once everyone had left except Warren, Declan hiding in his bedroom, Warren helped Brendan clear the poker table and said, "So this bloke you're seeing."

"I'm not seeing him," Brendan said heavily. "Thought it was heading that way, but…" He shrugged, didn't elaborate. "Fuck knows what's going on in his head."

"Probably not worth the hassle, mate," Warren said. Brendan didn't respond.

As he'd taken Saturday off, he went to work on Sunday, but it was a quiet day and the hours dragged. He was clockwatching even before noon, fed up and frustrated, and when closing time finally came, he went home to bed, tossed and turned before giving into another urge to wank, deliberately not thinking about anyone.

Monday dawned bright and warm, and Brendan rolled his eyes at it. As confident as he was following his encounter with the Carter & Hay machine, he wasn't so sure now. As far as he knew, this could have been about keeping Brendan's business for Steven, rather than any desire to actually see him. Maybe Douglas would arrive for the meeting after all.

But when the door opened dead on two-thirty, it was Steven, and Brendan let out a quiet breath.

Steven looked sure of himself, if a touch nervous, clearly trying to project a businesslike approach as he walked up to Brendan and held out his hand, saying, "Hiya," brightly, smiling.

Brendan shook his hand, feeling wrong-footed, and guided Steven to a nearby table. Steven was carrying a folder and a pen, and he laid them both out before him on the table and then clasped his hands, looking across at Brendan, giving nothing away.

"So. What's this event you want catered?"

"Engagement party," Brendan said, going along with it. He didn't know whether to be amused or irritated.

Steven nodded and opened the folder. "The date?"

"May twentieth."

"How many?"

"Around eighty," Brendan said. "Steven."

Steven looked up from his folder. "Hmm?"

"About last week—"

Steven interrupted him with a smile, flashing teeth. "We're here about the event," he said, pointing down at his goddamn folder. "Let's try to stay on topic, yeah?"

Brendan stared at him. "If that's what you want."

"That's why I'm here," Steven said, but there was something in his eyes—something that said this was taking effort, ignoring the elephant in the room, that he was itching to cut the bullshit himself.

Brendan let it play out, for now. He wasn't letting Steven leave without some kind of explanation, without him point-blank saying _No, I don't want you, I'm done here_. Brendan wasn't settling for anything less.

"Now if you're after a standard buffet, we have three packages—" Steven pulled out a laminated bit of A4 card. "Now the first one offers you—"

"I'll take it," Brendan said, not even glancing at the card. He couldn't take his eyes off Steven's face. He found himself watching his lips move as he spoke.

Steven cleared his throat. "That's the most expensive one," he said, tone weary.

"I'll take it," Brendan repeated. He didn't give a fuck how much a few sandwiches and bits of cheese cost him. He just wanted Steven to keep talking.

"Okay, fine." He sounded a bit fed up now. He put the card back in his folder and paused for a moment. "Look, Brendan, if you're not taking this seriously—"

"The event's on May twentieth. There'll be eighty people. I want the goddamn first buffet package, and you'll see Mitzeee about your fee. Anything else?"

Steven blinked. "No."

"Makes you wonder why Douglas doesn't let you handle these meetings," Brendan said, smirking. "You seem to have it all in hand."

Steven huffed out an irritable sigh and snapped his folder shut. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

"Go on," Brendan said. "Say it."

"Say what?" Steven bit out, cutting him a dark look.

"Whatever you were about to say. I want to hear it."

"Fine," Steven said, considering him, looking him dead in the eye fearlessly. "I was gonna ask if I'm just a game to you."

That wasn't what Brendan had been expecting. "What?"

"Well you seem to be having fun messing me about here, dun' ya?" His accent got stronger in anger, Brendan noticed. He kind of liked it. "And then all that bullshit last week—"

"Woah, hang on. What bullshit?"

"You know what I'm talking about, Brendan," Steven said, a hard edge to his voice.

The door opened, Mitzeee wandering in from her lunch. She grinned across at them and tottered behind the bar, the other end of the room. But this room was empty right now, and sound would carry.

"Let's go get a coffee," he said to Steven, getting up from his chair.

Steven's expression of anger melted into confusion. "What?"

"A coffee, Steven, let's go." Then as Brendan stormed out of the bar, all he could do was hope that Steven was following him.

::: :::

Ste followed Brendan into Costa. He didn't know what else to do. His mind was a mess of confusion—he had no clue if he wanted to argue with Brendan or walk away or something else, something more thrilling.

He settled for ordering a takeaway cappuccino, dumping sugar into, and mindlessly following Brendan back out again.

Brendan hadn't yet said a word other than to ask Ste what he was having.

"C'mon," he said now, once they were outside again. "Somewhere quiet."

And so Ste trundled along beside him, along the high street, feeling awkward and unsure and somewhat ridiculous. The atmosphere between them as they walked was heavy and thick; Ste wanted to cut through it with chatter, small talk, anything. But he didn't.

After a minute or so, Brendan led them around the corner and into the courtyard of a small hotel. He sat on a bench in the gardens, nodded for Ste to do the same. And by that point Ste had had enough time to let his thoughts get away with him, desperate now to speak.

"What are we even doing?" he asked not three seconds later. The cup was warm between his hands. Brendan didn't even seem to remember he was holding a drink. "What is this?"

Brendan looked at him. Turned his head, but kept his body facing straight ahead. "You're going to have to elaborate."

"This," Ste said, waving his hand to indicate the bench and the coffees and the randomness of this situation. But that wasn't what he meant at all, and he saw no point in pretending otherwise. He swallowed and cut to the chase. "All this—this interest you have in me. I'm just some random bloke, aren't I? I'm not even—"

When Brendan looked at him this time, Ste could see the confusion lurking in his eyes. "I don't know what you've been told, Steven, but it's actually a pretty common thing, wanting to get to know someone you're attracted to."

White noise buzzed through Ste's head for a moment and then cleared. It was the first time Brendan had openly admitted he was physically attracted to Ste. It made Ste's blood run hot, but then Daniel's face flashed into his mind, the realisation that Brendan found them _all _attractive. That was why he pursued them, snared them, slept with them. Ste was no different. "Yeah," he said, and he knew he sounded like a grumpy toddler. "I bet that's what you always say."

Brendan blinked at him. "What?"

"Nothing."

"No, come on." There was an edge of danger in Brendan's tone now. "What are you getting at?"

Ste sighed. He suddenly felt very tired. "Daniel told me, all right? At the restaurant the other day. He told me what you do." He paused. "Your _method_."

"My method," Brendan repeated flatly.

"Yeah," Ste said, shrugging. "Something like that."

"I wasn't aware I had one. Sounds…intriguing though. What is it…like a three-step plan for getting all the boys to like me?"

If Ste ever thought he would have anything to fear, this would be that moment. Brendan sounded slightly manic, a powerful kind of anger kept in check by the thinnest of control. The sharp, cutting, vicious edge of his voice should have Ste scared. But he wasn't. He was more annoyed that Brendan dared to take that tone with him.

"No," he said shortly.

"What then?" Brendan said, giving him a nudge with his elbow, making Ste look up into his fiery eyes. "Come on. _Enlighten me_, Steven." It was as if he was trying to threaten Ste but not, an instinct smothered.

Ste shrugged again. "You just—apparently you take guys out on a quick date, get them back to yours for dinner, and then—"

"Sleep with them?" Brendan asked, plain as day.

Ste looked at him for a long moment. Saying it out loud like this made it seem all the more real. He tried not to let that heavy feeling show on his face. "Yeah. And then never see them again."

Brendan stared at him.

"It's fine, though, right," Ste continued. He started picking at the edge of the cup in his hand, tearing off a bit of the card, gazing down at it rather than at Brendan. He didn't want to see confirmation in Brendan's eyes. "You like the chase, and then you get bored once you've got what you want. Loads of guys are like that. I'm not saying it's a bad thing, Brendan," he said, chancing a look up at him. Brendan seemed enthralled by every word Ste was speaking. "I'm just saying I'm not interested in being another notch on your bedpost."

After a long, long stretch of silence, during which Ste tried to work out the emotion swimming in Brendan's eyes, Brendan finally said, with ice in his tone, "I do this a lot, do I?"

Ste's throat had gone dry. "I dunno. Sounded like it."

"And where's my son while this is happening?" Brendan asked, tilting his head to the side, scathingly curious. But he wasn't denying it. Not yet. "Hmm? Where's Declan when I'm taking all these men home and seducing them?"

"Well I don't know, do I?" Ste said, frustrated now. All he wanted to hear was Brendan say it wasn't true, that it was all lies. But instead Brendan was dancing around it. Didn't seem inclined at all to put Ste's mind at rest. "It's none of my business."

"What kind of man do you think I am, Steven?"

It was the kind of question Ste should have asked himself days ago. He should have found out who he was dealing with before venturing into this _thing_.

Although he'd tried that, hadn't he? With Daniel. And look where that had got him.

The words, when he spoke, tasted cold in his mouth. "I don't know what kind of man you are, Brendan. I don't know you at all, do I? I just—I'm not interested in this, right?" He looked Brendan square in the eye, wanted to make sure he really understood this. "I'm not interested in being your latest challenge."

Brendan, not looking away, lifted a hand and smoothed down his moustache, did a weird sort of jerk in his neck, like working out a kink, or keeping himself in check. "Fine," he bit out. "You want me to back off, Steven? I'll back off. I can take a hint." Then he got up, left his coffee cup behind.

"Brendan—" Ste tried, because it wasn't supposed to go like this.

"No, Steven," Brendan said over his shoulder, already walking away. "I won't waste your time anymore."

"Brendan, wait, where are you going—"

"To see a man about a rumour," Brendan said darkly, and then he vanished.

Ste gave it a few moments, and then got up and followed him.

::: :::

Brendan arrived at the bistro with a vicious anger thundering through his veins. He saw Daniel through the window, he saw the man who'd put these thoughts in Steven's head, and he saw red.

He entered the bistro and cornered Daniel by the bar, flashing his teeth in an ugly grin when Daniel saw him, his eyes lighting up.

"Brendan." He sounded on the edge of delight.

"Hey," Brendan drawled. He leaned against the bar, tipped forward into Daniel's space. "Wanted to come see you again."

Daniel was bordering on breathlessness when he spoke. Brendan's very presence, standing this close, was sending Daniel's whole system into hyperdrive. It gave Brendan a savage thrill low in his gut. "I'm really glad you did."

Brendan traced the tip of his finger down the back of Daniel's hand, watched him try to repress a shiver. "You got a break?"

"Yeah," Daniel breathed. "I can take five minutes.

"Good." Brendan smiled. "Follow me."

He led Daniel into the bathroom, stopped in the middle of the room and took a breath, staring at the wall opposite.

He heard the door close behind him, then footsteps, cautious, approaching. The instant Daniel breathed his name and put a hand on his back, Brendan snapped. Turned around and got his hand clamped over Daniel's jaw, lips squashed, skin denting white on impact. Shoved until Daniel's back hit the door, watched his eyes widen, moisten, his breath coming out in short, sharp pants.

"Bren—" He was scrambling at Brendan's wrist, trying to loosen the hold.

Brendan's blood was boiling over, and it took everything he had to keep control, felt the familiar blackness of mania clawing at the edges of his vision. He leaned in, breathed in the smell of Daniel's terror.

"You ever talk about me to anyone again," he snarled into Daniel's face, "I'll _destroy_ this pretty face of yours. You hear me?"

Daniel did some crude imitation of a frantic nod, head too constricted by Brendan's hold on his face.

"Good lad," Brendan said, then shoved Daniel to the side, where he fell in a terrified heap by the door.

Brendan stepped over him and left the bathroom, straightening his sleeves and his collar, breathing through the comedown of rage. He headed out into the restaurant and then through the door to the street, not looking at any of the customers, not caring if they knew or saw, or what they thought of him.

He was caring about nothing at all until he came face-to-face with Steven, who was standing in the street outside the restaurant, looking at Brendan with such disappointment and anger that any residue of power Brendan still carried from his encounter with Daniel filtered away in an instant.

"Came to get your story straight with him, did you?" Steven asked, ice in his tone.

And Brendan thought, _fuck._


	4. Chapter 4

A part of Ste wasn't surprised to find Brendan coming out of the bistro. He'd followed Brendan from the gardens, but he'd lost him in the high street crowds, and instinct had him walking this way rather than back to his car. His instinct hadn't been wrong.

But Ste, apparently, was the last thing Brendan had expected to see. He froze just outside the door, staring at Ste with alarm in his eyes.

"Came to get your story straight with him, did you?" Ste asked, his tone cutting.

"Steven—" Brendan said heavily. He rubbed his forehead, face tilted forward, frustration written into every line of his bones.

It gave Ste a vicious thrill of satisfaction.

"Hope you had a nice chat. What is it—pissed off he ruined your little plan?"

Brendan dropped his hand from his forehead and gave Ste a levelled look. "All right, yeah. You want the truth? Yes, I came here to confront him about what he told you. The rumours he's spreading." He raised his arms at his sides. "Happy?"

"Rumours?" Ste asked, tension coiling up his spine. "Or lies?"

"Does it matter now?" Brendan took a step closer, dropped his voice to a low growl, eyes glinting dark and sharp. "I already told you I won't be wasting your time anymore. So what's your problem?"

"You're not wasting my time!" Ste exploded. He didn't care who heard him, who witnessed this. He was damn well going to speak his mind. "I only wanted you to say you weren't just after a quick fuck!"

The last word seemed to echo around them and silence descended. Ste could no longer hear the hustle and bustle of the high street, the traffic; all he was aware of now was Brendan, and the unreadable expression on his face.

"I wasn't," he said, tone flat, giving nothing away. Ste still had no idea what he was dealing with here, and he'd had just about enough.

"You know what, this is mad, this is. I've known you less than a week and already we're at each other's throats. That's gotta be some kind of record." His chest was getting tight, breath shortening, and something hot and thick was building in his gut, the darkening of Brendan's eyes setting his pulse racing. "I mean you have to ask, don't you, why we keep arguing—"

Brendan surged forward so suddenly it snatched Ste's breath away. He had no time to react—Brendan curled a hand around the side of his neck, his thumb bracketing his ear, fingers digging into his hair at the back of his head—and then his lips were on Ste's, closed-mouthed but bruising, pulling him in and holding him there and Ste couldn't breathe, couldn't move, couldn't focus on anything other than the lips against his own, the hand against his skin, and he tipped forward almost, wanting to touch but didn't, frozen—

And then the kiss broke, Brendan separating their lips but not moving away, tilting his face so he could rest their foreheads together, eyes downcast on Ste's lips, hand still holding him tightly.

Ste still had not taken a breath.

"That's why," Brendan purred against his mouth, voice thick and tight, and Ste understood it instantly. _This is what they call a spark._

"Get back to me when you've figured out what you want, Steven," Brendan muttered, and parted his lips, bringing his mouth forward again, looking to kiss, Ste's heart thrumming with anticipation—but no contact, nothing, just Brendan squeezing his eyes shut for a moment and then breaking away, stepping back.

He disappeared into the crowd before Ste thought to move.

::: :::

Brendan burst into the bar and leaned back against the door, smacking the back of his head against it as he stopped, breathing deep, eyes shut.

Fuck.

He couldn't get the heat pulsing through his veins under control. And he had no time to figure out what was going through his own head—the door knocked against his back, someone trying to get in, and Brendan huffed, not in the mood right now for Mitzeee's questions, or a delivery, or whoever the fuck it was.

But then the pushing on the door turned into loud, insistent knocking, impossible to ignore. Grumbling in irritation, Brendan shoved away from the door and turned, opened it.

Steven. And he looked furious.

"Who do you think you are, eh?" he demanded, stomping past Brendan and into the bar. Brendan stared after him, too surprised to answer. As soon as he'd walked away from Steven, he'd half assumed he would never see him again. But here he was, spitting feathers, eyes bright with anger, with _passion_. "With your surprise kiss and your brooding and your storming off into the night—"

"It's the middle of the day, Steven."

"Whatever!"

Out the corner of his eye, he saw Mitzeee poke her head out of the office, investigating the noise. Brendan shook his head at her and she raised her eyebrows, slinking back and out of sight.

He looked at Steven, at his tense jaw and flushed face. "You're angry with me."

"Too right I'm angry with you! You don't get to just—just _do_ that and then disappear."

"What else did you want me to do?" Brendan asked. He figured it was a fair question, one he desperately wanted the answer to. Did Steven want more? Did he want none of it at all? "I thought you might need space."

Steven snorted. "Space. Right." He took a step forward. Brendan need only lean forward a little and he could have kissed him again. He resisted, painfully. "What I need is for you to be open with me."

"I thought I had been," Brendan said quietly. His eyes kept darting to Steven's mouth.

Steven had noticed. He swallowed, and Brendan watched, with a thrill of desire, as Steven's gaze drifted down to his own mouth in return.

"I've made my intentions perfectly clear."

"To fuck and run?" Steven asked, voice barely above a whisper. There was no conviction in his words.

"No." Brendan licked his bottom lip. Steven followed the motion. His eyes had glazed over. "And you damn well know it."

Steven leaned forward, eyes intent on Brendan's mouth, his own lips parting—and Brendan braced himself for it, for a real kiss this time, for a taste of him, pulse kicking up a gear, tilting his head to the side and opening his mouth a little, eyes drifting shut—

Then Steven stopped, centimetres from Brendan, so close he could taste Steven's breath on his tongue. And just as Brendan was about to close the gap himself, Steven stepped away, cheeks burning red.

Brendan stared at him, itching, desperate. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing," Steven said, shaking his head, eyebrows furrowed. "I—"

"Kiss me if you wanna kiss me, Steven." He couldn't understand what had happened.

Steven huffed a laugh. "Moment's passed now, innit."

Brendan didn't even know there had been a moment before Steven had leaned in, but he wanted it back. He tilted his head, considering him. "I didn't put you down as shy."

"There's a lot you don't know about me," Steven said, a curious heaviness to his tone.

"That's what I've been trying to change," Brendan pointed out. "Look, Steven—"

Steven's phone rang, but he didn't reach for it in his pocket. He grimaced. "It'll be Doug. He's been ringing to see why I'm not back at work yet."

"Go then," Brendan said once the ringing stopped. "Wouldn't want you getting in trouble with the boss."

Steven scowled. "He's not my boss." He got his phone out then and Brendan watched him type a message, tip of his tongue caught between his teeth in concentration. It made Brendan feel strangely fond, but he schooled his features into blankness once Steven finished and looked up at him. "So uh—"

Brendan raised an eyebrow, waiting.

"I mean, are we just leaving it like this, or…?" Steven asked, waving a hand to indicate the space between them.

Brendan considered his words. "How do you want to leave it?"

"How do _you_ want to leave it?" Steven shot back, and Brendan was starting to realise what a stubborn fucker he was dealing with here. It sent excitement coursing through his veins.

"Offer still stands for you to come over," he tried, careful. "No strings," he added, raising his hands when Steven started to narrow his eyes. "No plan. I won't even make dinner." He smiled, self-deprecating. "We can just…" He didn't know how to put into words what he wanted, if he couldn't have _that_. Talk? Share company? Be together for an evening?

Steven figured it out for him, in his endearingly straightforward way. "Hang out?"

"Yeah." He crossed his arms over his chest, tilted his head to the side. "Hang out."

"All right," Steven said after a moment. He didn't look sure, but he didn't look worried either. It was a start. "When?"

"Declan's got something on with his band tomorrow evening. He'll be gone for a few hours." He'd have to bribe Mitzeee into covering for him again. He couldn't remember the last time he'd taken so much time off work. It was a strange, weightless feeling.

Steven nodded, the hint of a smile quirking the corners of his mouth. "Text me the address."

"I could pick you up," Brendan offered.

"No." He said it instantly, a flash of something in his eyes. Brendan understood. He wanted an escape plan, a way to get out quickly if things didn't go well. Brendan couldn't say he was happy that Steven still thought that way, but he understood it. "I'll drive myself."

"Okay." He stepped to the side and opened the door. "Tomorrow then."

::: :::

Ste was in a good mood when he arrived back at the unit. He still felt vaguely unsettled by Brendan—he was just so mysterious, and projected so much power, and Ste couldn't figure out why, _why_ Brendan was interested in him. But he'd closed the door on questioning it, and it felt as though they had the chance for a new start now. Without all the bullshit.

He'd argued with Brendan. He hadn't argued with anyone for the longest time, aside from a few short-tempered disagreements with Doug. He'd not had it in him, the motivation to muster up anger, frustration, any kind of genuine emotion other than numb despondency. But Brendan brought it out of him, dug deep and found that heat and passion and tugged it to the surface, somehow twisted Ste into such a knot that it allowed him to _feel_, to really feel.

And it felt good.

So good, in fact, that he didn't even care about Doug's grumpy expression when he walked in on him scrubbing the hob like it had personally offended him.

"Hiya. Sorry I took so long."

"It's fine," Doug said, standing straight and dropping his sponge on the cooker. "How did it go?" Ste could tell by his tone that he was making a concerted effort to sound polite.

"Really well, yeah. He's booked us. Eighty people, all the trimmings." He grinned, shucking off his jacket. "Nice little earner, that."

Doug nodded. It looked reluctant. "For when?"

"May…uh. I can't remember the date."

"Did you write it down?" Doug asked.

"Yeah…shit." Ste laughed at himself. Doug raised an eyebrow at him. "Left the folder there, didn't I?" The folder had a proper professional-sounding name, something about client roster or…something. Ste couldn't remember, and he didn't much care.

Doug tutted. "Ste!"

"What?" said Ste. "Relax. I can just go get it later. It's not a big deal."

"But I needed to check—" He came to a sudden stop, bit his lip.

"Needed to check I didn't fuck it up?" Ste smiled at him, and he knew it looked cold. "Well I didn't. And I said I'd get it later, so stop stressing."

Doug looked at him for a long moment. "That eager to see him again, are you?"

"Actually, yeah," Ste said, still sticking with his newfound urge to speak his mind. "I am."

Doug looked worried. "Ste—"

But Ste had been expecting it. "There's nowt wrong with it, Doug. It might actually be good for me."

"You don't even know this guy," Doug said, but his argument sounded weak and he looked as if he knew it. "What if he's bad news?"

"He's not," Ste said. He felt sure of it. "And if he is…well, I'll deal with it."

Doug didn't look appeased, but he did shut up.

::: :::

It was going to be a busy night. Even for a Monday, Brendan could feel it. It hadn't quite picked up yet—a couple dozen at most—but the weather was dry and he had a promo on and Mitzeee had had some idea about a one-night-only free plus-one to all members.

Brendan was working the bar, distracting himself, routinely getting fed up with Kevin who somehow kept managing to get in his way. During a lull in customers he got a glass of whiskey and checked the news on his phone and leaned against the bar, mind pleasantly empty for once.

Mitzeee came tottering out of the office, dress entirely too short and hair so massive it needed its own solar system. She was scanning the room as she approached him, looking over all the heads, obviously searching for someone.

"Expecting company?" he asked her, taking a sip of his drink.

She poured herself a glass of red. There was a slight shake to her hands that made him curious. "That fella I'm seeing—he's coming here tonight."

Brendan pushed away from the bar and stood up straight. "Is that so."

"No," she said sternly, pointing a finger at him, eyes narrowed. "You're gonna behave. In fact, you're not even gonna talk to him."

"Hmm," he said, looking her over. "What's his name?"

"Michael. And I like this one, Brendan, so just—" She poked his chest, hard. "Stay out of it."

"Hey," he said, rubbing the spot where her nail had dug into his chest. "I've never been anything but polite to all your fellas."

"Really? Really, Brendan? Connor," she said, holding up a finger, "you scared off." She held up a second finger. "Jason you punched. You got Nick in a headlock, and Ben—Ben you locked in the toilet for four hours!"

"They were all dicks," Brendan said reasonably. "At least three of them were cheating on you."

"That's not the point!"

"I did you a favour."

"I don't need any of your favours," she said, scowling at him.

It wasn't like he went out of his way to ruin her love life. But he was protective of her, and men flocked to her—the only problem was she was entirely too beautiful for own good. Men looked at her and saw that gorgeous face, but then they also saw the tan and the short skirts and all that hair, and Brendan didn't want to change her, not at all, but he knew how the male mind worked. Mitzeee was a good-time girl. A bit of fun on the side. Rarely did anyone bother to get to know what lay beneath the mask. No one knew _Anne_. And Mitzeee wasn't serious girlfriend material, marriage material. She was pure male fantasy.

"If you say this guy's decent," he said to her now, "then I believe you."

"Good," she said, then downed the rest of her drink. "Because he's here."

He scanned the bar. "Where—"

"Stay here." She shoved him out of her way, straightened her skirt, painted on a smile. "I'm gonna take him in the office with me. I still have some work to do—"

"If he gets jizz on any bit of furniture—!"

He was abruptly cut off by the arrival of Douglas, who was walking into the bar with a face that meant business. Brendan took a final sip of his whiskey and smiled to himself.

"Douglas," he said, once Douglas had reached the bar.

"It's Doug. I came to pick up the folder Ste left behind."

Brendan had found the folder earlier, tucked it behind the bar for safekeeping. He'd planned on handing it back when he saw Steven tomorrow, but he reached for it now, placed it on the bar in front of Douglas. "You know, you should have more faith in him. He knows what he's doing with these…meetings."

Douglas scowled at him, then flipped open the folder, no doubt examining Steven's work. "That's none of your business."

"Not yet."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Douglas asked, looking up at him sharply.

"What if I told you I wasn't planning on going anywhere." He smiled, a flash of teeth. "How does that work for you?"

"Seriously, dude," Douglas said to him after a moment of staring at him, his eyes irritatingly unreadable. "What is your obsession with him?"

"That's a strange way to look at it, Douglas. Hmm? A man wants to get to know a fella and suddenly he's obsessed. Why is that?" He leaned one arm on the bar, got closer, until he could see the faint lines of tension around Douglas' mouth. "Do you know how relationships work?"

"Oh is that what you think you've got with Ste, huh? A relationship?" He narrowed his eyes. "You're no one to him."

"Give me time," Brendan said slowly, his voice smooth, refusing to show how Douglas' words stung.

Douglas laughed then, mirthless and bitter. He looked back down at the folder and muttered, "You'll never be able to understand him."

Brendan felt a spike of something in his gut, his mind flashing back to a woman named Gloria, the nurse's uniform. "I didn't know I was dealing with someone so…complex."

"That's just it, _Mr Brady_," Douglas said, erupted almost, looking up at Brendan with fire in his eyes. "You _don't_ know what you're dealing with. Ste isn't some regular guy you can fuck until you get bored. He's…"

A slow, calculating grin spread across Brendan's face, although he didn't feel at all like smiling. "If I didn't know better, Douglas, I'd say you were carrying your own little torch for your friend there." He clipped his teeth together, an audible _click_. "Does he know?"

"There's nothing to know. It's not like that," Douglas said, irritation getting the better of him, words coming out almost on a hiss. His eyes had darkened. "But Ste—he's not the kind of person you mess around." He paused, then softened his voice. "He wouldn't be able to handle it." It was as if he was trying to tell Brendan something without actually saying it.

"How about you stop worrying about my intentions," Brendan said slowly, already tired of this caring best friend act that he could see right through, "and start worrying about your own."

Douglas glared at him. "I'm not gonna let you hurt him. I'm sorry, but I can't. You're no good for him."

"Doesn't seem fair, does it? When you know nothing about me."

"This is nothing to do with being fair," Douglas said, snapping the folder shut and picking it up. "It's about what's best for Ste. You don't _know_ him."

"Like I said, Douglas. Give me time."

"I know what you must think of me right now, but I don't care." He backed away from the bar, shaking his head. "I'm the only one looking out for him. You can just…find a new hobby," he said, before leaving. Getting the last word, the bastard.

It sounded so final, and Brendan gave in to the worry pooling in his chest. Best friends were powerful things—persuasive, coaxing, so familiar and appreciated that everything they did and said meant something. Douglas had power here, power to turn Steven's head, and Brendan couldn't help the concern filling his thoughts now.

He was surprised, therefore, when Steven entered the bar not thirty minutes later, looking cheerful and upbeat, eyes lighting up when he spotted Brendan and came over.

"Hiya." He hitched himself up onto a bar stool. "Left me folder here, didn't I," he said, rolling his eyes at himself and still grinning. He looked so happy to be there, in Brendan's bar, that Brendan couldn't help but return the smile, let himself relax a little. "I'd lose me head if it weren't screwed on."

Brendan huffed a small laugh for the tired joke, then jerked his thumb in the direction of the door. "Uh, Douglas…"

"What about him?" Steven asked, brow furrowed.

"He came by a little while ago and picked it up."

Steven's face shut down, scowl forming, lips pursing. "Did he saw owt?" he asked sharply.

Brendan considered the truth. Considered it, then discarded it. "Can't say I remember anything particularly thrilling. He's a dull one, isn't he?"

"Shut up," Steven said, laughing now, face smoothing out. "He's a good friend, is Doug. Dunno what I'd do without him."

"Hmm." Brendan drummed his fingers against the bar, bit his tongue. "Can I get you a drink while you're here?"

Steven's eyes were twinkling, lit up for him. "Might as well, eh? Got nothing better to do."

"That's the spirit."

He grabbed a bottle of beer for Steven and opened it, then came around to Steven's side, leaned against the bar beside him, angled so he could look him straight in the face, see every tick and smile and quirk of his eyes.

"Thanks," Steven said, taking the bottle from Brendan. He drank a little and then gave a little gasp, wiped the pad of his thumb over his bottom lip. Brendan watched, swallowed. "You don't have to stand here with me. I can see you're busy."

The place had filled up some in the past half hour or so, but Brendan wasn't concerned.

"That's why I have staff, Steven."

"Oh yeah?" Steven asked, his tone carrying a little cheek. "What's your job here then, if you're not actually working?"

"I'm just here to make the place look good."

Steven smirked. "Reckon you're overpaid."

"Thanks, darlin'," Brendan said sardonically, clapping Steven on the back.

Steven flinched and hissed, leaned forward and away from the contact.

"What?" said Brendan, alarmed. "Did I—" It couldn't have hurt. Sure, there had been plenty of times when he'd been unaware of his own strength, but his touch to Steven's back just then had been barely more than a hearty tap.

"No, no," Steven said, rolling his shoulders and attempting a smile. His eyes had watered up ever so slightly; if Brendan hadn't been standing so close, he never would have noticed. "Just, uh… sunburn."

"Sunburn." Brendan frowned. "Did you nip over to the Costa del Sol this afternoon? It's been shit here all day."

Steven gave an uneasy laugh, cheeks colouring slightly. He looked away from Brendan and then froze, his whole body going stiff, eyes widening and, Brendan was sure, his breath stopping completely. Confused, Brendan looked in the direction Steven was now staring—the doors leading towards the office and the back rooms.

"What is it?" he asked, looking back at Steven. He hadn't seen anything worth noticing, but all the colour had drained from Steven's face, now ghostly pale and sickly. "Steven."

It took Steven a moment, but eventually he blinked and looked away from the doors, the tension in his body easing slightly. "Nothing," he said. He shot Brendan a weak smile. "Thought—uh. Just thought I saw something, that's all."

"You sure?"

"Yeah." Steven swallowed, a thick roll of his throat, and then nodded. "Yeah. It's fine."

"Hey. You okay?" Brendan touched his back, gentle this time, rubbed a little. Steven didn't flinch now, and when he looked at Brendan, that alarm or fear or whatever it was had vanished from his eyes.

"Yep. Fine." He relaxed under Brendan's hand, let himself slump a little in his seat. "But I better get going," he said, taking another healthy gulp of beer before putting the bottle down. "Don't wanna keep ya."

"I happen to like the distraction." Brendan smiled. Now Steven had relaxed again, and now Brendan had had his hand on him successfully for a full minute without any drama, he craved something more. Thought for a moment if he should push it, searched Steven's eyes for anything that might lead to resistance. He saw nothing but warmth staring back at him and his stomach jolted pleasantly. He leaned forward, flicked his gaze to Steven's mouth, made his intention clear. "Can I—?"

Steven licked his lips, eyes glazing over. "Maybe just a quick one."

Brendan would take what he could get. He leaned close and paused, waited, until Steven's hand came up to touch his neck slightly and closed the gap, pressed their lips together. It was chaste, and it was soft, and when Brendan slowly parted his lips a touch, Steven's tongue met his, gentle and warm, hesitant, tasting so good that it took everything Brendan had not to press in deeper, devour him. He closed his lips around the very edge of Steven's bottom lip for a moment, a lingering last kiss, before pulling away, their lips clinging.

Steven looked dazed, opening his eyes slowly. "I could get used to that," he mumbled, cheeks flushed.

Brendan laughed. Brushed his fingers against Steven's jaw. "That's the idea."

He was still thinking about the taste of Steven hours after he left.

::: :::

The following evening, Brendan accidentally got Steven drunk. It hadn't been his plan; in fact, he'd offered Steven all manner of non-alcoholic drinks before Steven had opted for the wine in his fridge. Problem was, Steven had arrived here on an empty stomach ("Hiya!" he'd hollered through the intercom, nearly blasting Brendan's ear off; although he was coming to love the way he said that. _Hiyuurrr_). He hadn't told Brendan he'd not eaten, and Brendan—as per their agreement, thanks to that goddamn Daniel—hadn't made any dinner. And so they'd made it through a whole bottle of wine together before Steven's stomach grumbled loudly enough for Brendan to hear, and the giggle Steven let out brought into focus that his eyes were squiffy, and his cheeks were flushed, and yeah, he was drunk.

Brendan laughed at him. "Lightweight."

"Oi!" Steven nudged him. "It's your fault, this."

They were stood together in the kitchen, where they had been standing for the entire hour Steven had been here so far, leaning against the counters and drinking wine and talking about nothing that drifted into territory one might expect on a date.

Brendan didn't know if this was a date. He didn't know if Steven was here as a friend. Steven had done nothing to show his hand either way. They'd talked about the new wine bar Brendan was thinking of buying, and they talked about Steven's kids coming up to see him next weekend, and Brendan had talked about all the places he had visited when Steven noticed his collection of shot glasses from around the world.

It had all been very pleasant and polite and safe.

But now Steven was drunk, and Brendan prepared himself for change.

"How is it my fault?" he asked now. "You wanted the wine."

"Yeah, but—" Steven's stomach growled again, and they both stood in silence, listening to it, Brendan raising an eyebrow.

"You need some food."

"What have you got?" Steven asked, putting his empty glass on the counter, too close to the edge—Brendan nudged it back a few inches into safety. Then Steven turned and started opening Brendan's cupboards, having a good look around.

"Make yourself at home, Steven," he drawled, lazily sipping his drink and watching Steven have a rummage. "You won't find much."

Steven tutted, moved onto the fridge. "That's no good, is it? You knew you were having company."

"Well according to you and your new friend, me making you dinner was code for 'take your clothes off, Steven'."

Steven giggled and looked over his shoulder at Brendan, face lit by the fridge light. "Say that again."

Brendan smirked. "Take your clothes off, Steven." He made sure to inject an extra bit of growl into his voice.

Steven flashed a grin, tongue caught between his teeth, eyes dancing. "Your voice is pure sex. Anyone ever tell you that before?"

Yes, in so many words, but it sounded better coming from Steven. "Want me to read the phone book to you?"

"Maybe later," Steven said breezily, turning back to the contents of the fridge. Brendan liked Steven drunk, almost as much as he liked him sober.

Steven came away from the fridge carrying eggs and cheese, dumped them on the counter and started muttering about a pan, looking through the bottom cupboards now. "Pour us another glass," he instructed Brendan.

He'd probably had enough, but Brendan wasn't going to tell him what to do. He got a fresh bottle of wine and topped them both up, ready to run for the fire extinguisher as he watched Steven make omelettes.

Turned out alcohol didn't dampen Steven's abilities in the kitchen, and ten minutes later Brendan had a mouthful of hot, delicious omelette, sans catastrophe. The noise he made as he chewed had Steven laughing and looking across at him with twinkling eyes.

"Jesus, you know how to cook," Brendan said.

Unfortunately it was too little, too late: the food did nothing to line Steven's stomach, and by the time they'd finished eating, the last glass of wine had tipped Steven into full-on intoxication.

Brendan had no choice but to sling Steven's arm over his shoulder and half carry him to bed, hoping against hope that Steven wouldn't read anything into this, start thinking that this was all part of a plan.

"You're so hot," Steven said when Brendan tipped him back on the bed. He was clumsily groping the side of Brendan's face, nearly poking him in the eye.

Brendan flashed a grin. "Glad you think so."

"No, I mean like _really_ hot." He let out another drunken giggle, arms falling heavily by his side. "You do funny things to me."

"Good to know," Brendan said, huffing a laugh. He reached for the blanket and tucked it over Steven. "Get some sleep now."

"Wish I could show you," Steven mumbled, sounding more sombre now.

A rush of heat flooded Brendan's chest. "Whenever you're ready, Steven." Then he looked at Steven's wonky eyes and the cheeks flushed through with inebriation. "Well, maybe not right _now_-"

"No." Steven shook his head, eyes drifting shut. "I can't let anyone touch me. Except Doug."

"Douglas? Douglas touches you?"

"Not like that," Steven said, lazily giggling again. "But he's the only one who doesn't make me panic."

"Why do you panic?" Brendan asked, something uncomfortable replacing that heat in his chest. But sleep was already claiming Steven, his face turning into the pillow, lips parting slightly. "Steven."

When no response came, Brendan sighed, brushed his fingers over Steven's temple. "I wouldn't hurt you, Steven," he murmured, because it seemed like an important thing to say, even if Steven couldn't hear him right now.

He watched Steven sleep for a few minutes before quietly leaving the room, his head a jumbled mess of questions.

::: :::

The room was dark, and warm, and Ste let his whole weight sink into the mattress, hugged a pillow to his chest and buried his face in it. Air whispered against his bare arse cheeks, the sweat-damp skin of his back, and he shivered when a large, roughened hand slid up his side and back down, gripped his hip.

"Relax for me, Steven," Brendan murmured from behind him, above him. His breath was hot against Ste's shoulder blades. "I'm gonna make you feel good."

Soft lips pressed against his spine at the base of his neck, drifted lower, an inch at a time, the swipe of a tongue, the brush of a moustache, sensation filling him, tingling across his skin, into his veins.

The weight of Brendan's hard cock ghosted over the back of his thigh and he breathed a sigh, rolled his own hips into the mattress, fingers gripping the pillow tightly.

"Hold still for me now," Brendan said, but he sounded different now, his voice was different.

Something sharp pressed against the back of Ste's shoulder and he froze, waited, tried to lift his head when that sharpness dug into his skin and sliced lower, slowly, agonisingly, skin splitting and pain flooding his senses and Ste didn't like this, didn't like this one bit—

"No—"

He tried to lift his head again, to move, but he couldn't, frozen, limbs stiff and body still and that sharpness burning red-hot down his back, something wet spreading across his skin now—

"Hold still," Brendan said again, but it wasn't Brendan, wasn't his voice.

He couldn't breathe, his skin flaying open and his chest constricted and he wanted to scream but couldn't, wanted to beg but couldn't get enough breath to speak—

"Good boy," said the voice, the voice that wasn't Brendan, and that sharpness dug in deeper, and his skin was splitting wider, and he couldn't move, and he couldn't cry, and he couldn't beg for help—

Ste woke up with a scream caught in his throat, panting and trembling, phantom pain still filling his body. He lay there in the silence, in the dark, for minutes—breathing, calming, blinking back tears.

He needed his pills, only he wasn't at home, wasn't in his own bed. This room was not his own.

Brendan.

The last thing Ste remembered was Brendan's smiling face, his warm eyes. He had no idea how he got into this bed, but a quick check showed him nothing untoward had happened. He was still fully dressed; he felt untouched and clean.

He must have been out-of-his-head wasted, and he grimaced at the realisation, blushed. How fucking embarrassing.

He dreaded to think what Brendan must think of him now.

He climbed out of bed as quietly as he could and tiptoed out of the room. The last thing he needed was to run into Brendan's son. But he encountered no one as he made his way back to the living room, only Brendan, fast asleep on the sofa, a soft white blanket pulled up to his waist. The TV was on quietly, ghostly images flickering across Brendan's face.

Ste grabbed his jacket off the back of the chair and crept over to Brendan. After finding the remote and switching off the TV, he gazed down at Brendan, lit now only by the streetlight shining through the window. His face was smooth and relaxed, lips slightly parted, hair in disarray. He was beautiful like this, softer somehow. Ste wanted to kiss him goodbye, his forehead perhaps, or maybe even his lips. But he didn't have the nerve. He ran his fingers lightly through Brendan's hair instead, just once, and touched Brendan's cheek softly before leaving.

He exited the building to find a young, vaguely good-looking man staring in confusion at the intercom pad. His brow was furrowed, and he looked lost.

"Can I help you, mate?" Ste asked him.

The guy looked over. "No names on these numbers," he muttered, pointing his thumb at the pad. "You don't happen to know which one of these is Brendan Brady, do you?"

Ste gave him a more considering look now. "You a friend of his?"

"Yeah." The guy grinned. It looked wolfish. "Yeah, we go way back."

"Right," said Ste. On the one hand, it wasn't his place to give out Brendan's address to random people. On the other hand, Brendan probably wouldn't be best pleased if he found out Ste had left a good friend of his out in the cold. Besides, this guy looked harmless enough. Whatever it was, Brendan probably had it covered. "It's apartment 14. Top floor."

"Thanks, mate," said the guy. "I would've been out here all night."

"Yeah, but he's asleep right now, so…"

"S'all right." He grinned again. "He'll get up for me."

Ste nodded. Something about this guy niggled at him. "Well I'm Ste anyway," he said, holding out his hand. "I'll probably be seeing you again. Any friend of Brendan and all that."

"Pleasure." The guy shook his hand. His grip was firm. "I'm Vinnie."


	5. Chapter 5

"Dad."

Brendan grumbled and squeezed his eyes shut tighter, trying to cling on to his dream. Something about Steven and ice cream and—

"Dad!"

"Wha'?" He opened his eyes, irritated, blinking in the dim lighting of his living room. The TV was off, and he was on the couch. Because Steven was in his bed. The last remnants of his dream flashed through his mind pleasantly.

"Get up. There's a fella here to see you."

He looked over at Declan, who was hovering near the couch in a pair of ratty tracksuit bottoms and little else, arms crossed tightly over his chest. His hair was sticking up every which way, and he didn't look happy about being awake right now.

"When did you get in?" Brendan asked around a yawn.

"About an hour ago. You were passed out." Declan squinted at him. "Why were you sleeping on the couch?"

"Bed's occupied," Brendan said, pushing himself up off the couch.

"Occupied? By who?"

"A friend." He got to his feet and stretched, wincing as his back clicked painfully in about eight different places. He was too old for nights on the couch. "Who's here?"

"Some fella at the door. Says he's a friend of yours." He narrowed his eyes at his dad. "You promised Ma you were done with shady people, and here's one now getting me out of bed in the middle of the night."

"Let's not raise the alarm just yet, eh," Brendan said, heading over to the door, "before I've seen who—"

Brendan froze.

The door was half open, allowing a blond slip of a man to lean against the frame, gazing across at Brendan wearing half a smile. Brendan looked into the face of Vinnie, and his first thought was of Steven, asleep just down the hall. Panic flooded him.

"Vinnie."

"Hello, Brendan." Vinnie flashed a grin, pushed away from the doorframe to stand upright. "Long time no see."

"Yeah…yeah, it is." Brendan's mind was racing a mile a minute, caught in the shock of seeing Vinnie again, clashing with his panic of Steven waking up at this moment and witnessing this, his middle-of-the-night twink visitor. It wouldn't look good, no matter how Brendan spun it. "What are you doing here?" He hadn't quite approached the door yet, still stood a few feet away and looking at Vinnie warily. Vinnie was at his door. _Vinnie_. Jesus.

"Can I come in?" Vinnie asked, licking his lips—nervous, excitement, Brendan couldn't tell. He'd never taken the time to learn Vinnie's body language quirks. Didn't think he had to.

Brendan cast a glance at Declan, still standing in the middle of the living room, looking over at them curiously. Then back at Vinnie. He looked thin, thinner than Brendan remembered, T-shirt hanging off bone, no jacket. His lips were pale, dark shadows sunken in beneath his eyes. His hair hadn't been cut for a while. He didn't look good, and Brendan felt a pang of something like guilt. Responsibility. "Yeah, c'mon," he muttered, crossing over to the door and holding it wider. Vinnie stepped into the apartment and Brendan closed the door behind him. "Go through to the kitchen," he said, pointing at the kitchen door. "I'll put the kettle on."

Vinnie gave him a grateful smile as he brushed past him, looking around the room, eyes wide like he was taking everything in. Once he'd vanished into the kitchen, Brendan grabbed Declan's arm and pulled him aside, spoke to him in a hushed mutter.

"There's a bloke in my bed—"

"Dad!"

"It's not like that, Jesus. He was drunk and just needed somewhere to crash for a few hours." When Declan didn't look convinced, Brendan huffed and said, "You found me on the couch, didn't you? C'mon, Deccy."

"Right, right, fine," Declan said, rolling his eyes. "What about him?"

"I need you to make sure he's still asleep. If he wakes up, just—stall him. Don't let him come out here."

"You serious?" Declan asked, face screwed up in disbelief. "What am I meant to do, sit on him?"

"You'll think of something." Brendan shoved him towards the hallway. "Go. I just need ten minutes to get rid of this guy."

Declan tutted. "No fella for months and then two in one night—"

"Go!"

Declan went, muttering to himself as he did so. Brendan drew a deep breath and entered the kitchen.

Vinnie was standing in the corner of the room, wedged up against the cooker, bony arms crossed over his narrow chest. Brendan wanted to shove a decent meal down his throat almost as much as he wanted to know why he was here in the first place.

He flipped the kettle on, considering his words as he reached for clean mugs and tea bags. Vinnie spoke first.

"I didn't know you had your kid living with you now." He sounded apologetic about it, as if perhaps he might not have turned up here had he known. But the Vinnie Brendan knew had never been that conscientious.

"Why would you know?" Brendan asked, spooning sugar into the mugs. He didn't know if Vinnie took sugar, but he looked like he needed it. "My life's never been any of your business." He cut Vinnie a guarded smile then, wanting to take the sting out of his words but also wanted to make sure Vinnie understood.

Vinnie's face clouded over and his mouth opened, but he didn't get chance to respond. The kitchen door opened, Declan tiptoeing in. He gave Vinnie a hard look before leaning over to mutter to his dad, "That thing you asked me to do. It's not there."

Brendan whipped his head round to face him, eyebrows drawn. A heaviness settled in his gut. "Did you check the bathroom?"

"Yeah. Must've left earlier."

Brendan didn't know how to feel about it. Relief that Steven wasn't here to witness this; disappointment that he'd left silently without saying anything. The two emotions clashed within him, and he squeezed his fist around the spoon handle. He nodded at Declan. "Okay, thanks. You can get back to bed now."

"Are you…" Declan glanced over at Vinnie. "You've got this?" He looked tougher all of a sudden, ready to man up for his dad if he needed to, if this Vinnie presented any kind of threat. The swell of pride in Brendan's chest smothered his confused feelings about Steven's absence, and he tapped Declan on the back in a gesture of gratitude.

"Yeah, it's fine. Go on."

"If you're talking about your friend," Vinnie said as Declan slipped back out of the kitchen, "he left about twenty minutes ago."

Brendan's back stiffened, his jaw tensed. He poured water into the two cups, careful, measured movements. "Is that so?"

"Yeah, I met him. He told me which apartment was yours."

"Hmm." Brendan didn't like this at all. Steven was not supposed to have any contact with anything to do with Brendan's past, especially not old fucks who turned up at his door looking tweaked out and homeless as shit. Because Brendan hadn't stuck around to make sure he would be okay. He handed him the mug, watched him wrap his bony hands around it, hugging it close to his chest like it was the first source of warmth he'd experienced in days. "What are you doing here, Vinnie?"

Vinnie swallowed, looked up at Brendan with vulnerable eyes. "Things went south with Danny, didn't they?" He laughed, but it sounded painful. "Had to get out of there quick."

Brendan nodded. He didn't know the details, didn't _want_ to know them. It had nothing to do with him anymore. "And then…?"

"Not much," Vinnie said, shrugging a little. "Drifted around for a while, didn't really have anywhere to go. Couldn't find work, so…"

Vinnie was a lost boy, had been when Brendan met him. No family, no friends, no place to call home. He'd hopped from place to place, trying to find a life for himself, and then Brendan had given him something without realising it, some kind of hope he guessed. Then took it away without explanation. Brendan was a bastard, but that had never been any kind of secret.

"I feel bad for you, Vinnie," he said, and he mostly meant it. "But what are you doing _here_?"

Vinnie seemed to be trying to beg Brendan for something using just the power of his eyes—wide, watery, imploring. Once upon a time, that look of pure weakness and vulnerability would have spoken to that power-hungry side of him, turned him on.

"I need a new start." He swallowed, slowly and thickly. "A job."

Brendan sighed. Last time he'd seen Vinnie, he'd been balls-deep inside him, thrusting and breathing deep and baring his teeth as his body built to climax; and Vinnie was panting beneath him, looking up at him, and then he was telling Brendan he loved him, and Brendan said nothing, came deep inside him, pulled out and left without a word. Texted Danny Houston, told him he was taking off, wanted a change of scenery. And that was what he did; he never went back to Vinnie, never went back to tell him goodbye, or to see that he would be okay. He didn't care enough; the thought barely crossed his mind.

It should have done. He'd left, and Vinnie had become _this_. Brendan had no idea if it was all his fault, but right now he was the only one around to take responsibility.

If only Vinnie hadn't got so involved. Because Brendan hadn't.

He bit the inside of his lip, torn. Vinnie's eyes of vulnerability had become hopeful.

"Fine," Brendan said, snapped almost. He might feel responsible, but that didn't mean he couldn't resent it. "I can give you a few shifts at the bar." Vinnie's whole face lit up, bright enough for Brendan to add, his tone grouchy, "But it won't be permanent. We're already fully staffed."

He thought of the new bar he was planning on buying, on how he would need a whole new roster of staff. Thought about it, but didn't say anything.

"That's fine, yeah, thank you," Vinnie said, near breathless with gratitude. Then he smiled, the kind of smile that said he was about to overstep the mark, push his luck. Brendan knew that smile well. He'd had to wipe it off Vinnie's face a few times. "Don't suppose there's a spare bed going as well?"

Brendan looked up and sighed to high heaven, made sure Vinnie knew exactly how put out he was about this. But Vinnie didn't look concerned; he was still wearing that hopeful smile when Brendan looked at him again.

"You can have a couple of nights on the couch," he grumbled, because seriously, what the fuck else was he supposed to do here? He couldn't turn the kid away on to the streets, not when he so clearly had nowhere else to go. "But you get yourself sorted quick. This ain't a hotel."

"Understood," Vinnie said, nodding, and then he took a satisfied gulp of his tea, eyes alight.

Brendan glanced at his watch and winced. "Look, it's late. Get some sleep, we'll finish this tomorrow." He gave the length of Vinnie's body a look of distaste. "You can shower in the morning. Clean yourself up."

He left his tea untouched on the counter and headed off to his bedroom, not wanting to hear any response from Vinnie, needing this night to be over so he could start fresh in the morning, sort this shit out. All he wanted these days was to live a life free of complications, with his son by his side, and maybe a warm body in his bed. Why was that so difficult?

His bed, as it turned out, still held a hint of Steven's warmth when he pressed his hand down on the messed-up side. Steven hadn't bothered to make the bed when he left it, and Brendan smiled softly to himself. He kicked off his clothes and collapsed onto Steven's warm patch, pulled the quilt over himself, stared up at the ceiling in contemplation.

Steven had only left half an hour ago or so. He wouldn't be asleep yet.

He reached for his phone and typed out a message.

_Should've told me you were leaving. ~B_

The response came back within moments.

_Didn't want to wake u. Sorry I got drunk and passed out. :/_

Brendan sent: _It's fine ~B_. He was just glad Steven had felt relaxed enough to enjoy himself, let his guard down like that. It felt like progress.

_Saw your mate. Hope it was ok telling him where u lived?_

It wasn't, not really, but Steven wasn't to know.

_He's just visiting for a couple of days. ~B_

_Ok. Well call me when he's gone and maybe we can do something again_.

Brendan didn't want to go a few days without seeing him, without having him over, or taking him out. But as far as Steven was aware—as far as he would ever be aware—Vinnie was an old friend of Brendan's, visiting him for a while. And what kind of bastard left a visiting friend home alone to go on a date? Steven couldn't know that this was a different situation, that Brendan would much rather not sit at home with Vinnie. That what he really wanted to do was spend all his free time with Steven.

He rolled his lips between his teeth and considered what he could send in response, because he couldn't leave Steven hanging like that.

_You left before I could say goodbye properly. ~B._

_Next time_.

The response sent a buzz of heat through his veins.

_Come to the bar tomorrow. ~B._

Because apparently he didn't know how to play it cool anymore.

But Steven's response wasn't the answer he was looking for, and it dampened that heat coursing pleasantly through his veins.

_Can't. Got plans. :/_

His bedroom door opened before he could think of a reply, and he lowered his phone onto the mattress beside him as he watched a body tiptoe into the room, silhouetted by the light behind in the hall.

It was Vinnie, and he was topless now.

"Are you lost?" Brendan asked him, tensing up all over.

Vinnie huffed a laugh and approached the bed. "I just wanted to thank you," he said, his voice breathy. "For everything you're doing for me."

"It's just a few shifts, Vinnie, let's not get ahead of ourselves."

"I know, but—" Vinnie's whole body jerked as if he were about to do something but stopped. Then he drew a deep breath, seeming to steel himself, and moved.

Put one knee in the bed beside Brendan's hip, lifted his other. Intending to straddle him.

Brendan sat up so quickly he startled Vinnie into a jolt, put his hand flat on Vinnie's skinny chest to stop him.

"What d'you think you're doing?" Brendan hissed at him, voice muted so as not to alert Declan. Vinnie looked at him with wide, doe-like eyes, blinking slowly. No doubt he thought he looked seductive. Once upon a time, that pathetic look would have cranked Brendan's gears. That look of weakness. Desperation. "I'm helping you out because I treated you badly and I feel shit about it. But you and me—" He gave Vinnie's chest a push, made him stand up from the bed and step back. "That ended when I left."

Vinnie's eyes hardened, the cut line of his jaw sharpening. "Replaced me, have you?"

"You were nothing to replace," Brendan said, gritting his teeth. "You were a bit of fun, Vinnie. A distraction. Whatever you thought was happening, it wasn't." He didn't like saying all this, crushing the boy. But he couldn't have him here under false pretences. "At least not for me."

Vinnie stared at him for a long moment. Brendan could see the cogs turning in his brain. Then he let out a sigh and stepped forward again, hands reaching out to touch. "I don't believe you—"

Brendan gripped one of Vinnie's wrists in a vice-like grip, shoved it away. "That's not my problem," he said flatly. "Don't make me regret letting you back in, Vinnie. I've got no issue with throwing you out on the streets."

"Brendan…" Vinnie said woefully, his voice thick.

"Get out of here." Brendan nodded towards the door. "This room's off-limits to you, understand?"

Vinnie huffed and slouched off, the very picture of dejection. Before he left, however, he had one last parting shot: "Bet he'll never give you what I did."

Brendan waited for the door to close and then laid back down in the last remnants of Steven's warmth, closed his eyes and let out a long, slow breath through his nose.

It took him an age to fall asleep.

::: :::

Brendan woke up the following morning to find Warren in bed with him.

He blinked, and then Warren smirked down at him. "Mornin', sunshine," he said, sounding entirely too chirpy for this early in the morning. He had the remote in hand, casually flipping through channels on the TV in the corner of Brendan's room.

"Wha'—"

"Well I was gonna put my feet up in the living room," Warren explained, shifting a little beneath the quilt. He seemed to have every pillow Brendan owned wedged behind his back. "But there's some fucked-out scally half dead on your couch."

Vinnie. Shit.

Brendan yawned and stretched, in no particular rush to get up and deal with what awaited him outside this room. So instead he lay there, staring at the TV with Warren. He had some morning cookery show on and perhaps this should have been strange, in bed with Foxy watching the cooking, but weirder shit had happened.

"Just so you know, Brady," Warren eventually said, sounding comfortable and lazy, "your taste in men is shit."

"It's not like that," Brendan muttered. He couldn't even muster up the energy to be offended. "He's some kid from way back. I'm helping him out."

"So he's not the fella you've got a hard-on for then?"

"Nope," Brendan said. He tugged the quilt farther onto his side. Warren tutted and yanked it back.

"Well I have to say I'm relieved. You'd break that kid out there in half."

"He can take it," Brendan said around another yawn. "He scratched an itch a few times a while back."

Warren snorted, but said nothing.

After a while, Brendan said casually, "You know I'm naked, right?" He could feel the edge of Warren's jeans against his bare hip.

"Yep."

"Good."

Eventually Brendan was able to nag Warren into getting up and putting the kettle on, and he beat Declan and Vinnie into the shower, able to grab the first rush of hot water. Declan usually used it all up before Brendan could get there, making Brendan wait an extra twenty minutes for the tank to reheat.

After, clean and dried and dressed, he went into the living room, cast a glance at a still-asleep Vinnie on the couch, and entered the kitchen to find Warren and Declan making bacon sandwiches together.

"I'm not hungry," he said.

"Good thing it's not for you then, ain't it," Warren said, concentrating on flipping the bacon over.

But he had at least left a warm cup of coffee for Brendan on the side, which he grabbed and drank gratefully, leaning against the counter and taking the opportunity to relax for a few final minutes.

"Who's the guy then?" Declan asked, nodding his head in the general direction of the living room.

"Name's Vinnie. Old friend."

Warren snorted. "Is that what we're telling the kids these days."

Declan's eyes narrowed. "Oh, so he's an ex-boyfriend."

"No. Nope. Nothing like that," Brendan said. "Just some kid I used to know when I ran that club for Danny Houston."

"What's he doing here then?"

Brendan took a sip of his coffee. "Needs a bit of help." He gave Declan a reassuring smile. "He'll be gone soon enough, don't worry."

"Whatever," Declan said. He sounded bored of the topic already. "I'm getting a shower before that filthy thing gets in there."

Once Declan left the room, Warren turned off the hob and faced Brendan. "Listen, Brady, if you need me to take the kid off your hands for a few days until you get this thing sorted…"

It was probably a good idea, all things considered. But Brendan was still hoping it wasn't necessary. That Vinnie was good for his word—would be up and out of here within a couple of days, drama-free.

"We'll see how it goes." Even he could hear the doubt in his tone.

::: :::

Ste couldn't seem to drag himself out of bed. The alcohol the night before, coupled with having to drive himself home in the middle of the night, had left him lethargic this morning, comfortably buried beneath his quilt, still chasing sleep.

But the knocking at his door couldn't go ignored any longer, and he grudgingly pulled himself up and out to answer it. It was Doug, and he was carrying two steaming takeaway cups.

Ste gratefully wrenched a cup out of his hands and took a long gulp of hot coffee, gasping and sighing as it sank into his body.

"Rough night?" Doug asked, smirking as he shut the door behind himself and followed Ste into the living room.

"What're you doing here so early?" Ste sank onto the couch. He supposed it was an improvement from the bed—he was up, at least, even if not totally with it yet.

"It's almost ten, Ste," Doug said, sitting in the armchair opposite. "When you didn't show up at the unit, I figured you were still here sleeping it off."

"Sleeping what off?" Because he was fairly sure he hadn't spoken to Doug since he'd got so drunk the night before.

Doug shrugged. "Whatever you were doing."

Ste didn't explain, even if Doug so clearly wanted him to. For so long he had indulged his need to tell Doug every detail of his life, not sure why he wanted to share so much of himself, keep Doug so entwined in his own world. But not this time. This thing with Brendan, whatever it was, felt private.

Doug, apparently figuring out he wasn't going to get any details from Ste, said, "We're still on for tonight, aren't we?"

Right. _The boys_. Ste's once-a-week tedium. Every week Doug asked him, and every week Ste said yes. And he knew now he'd already agreed for this week, even told Brendan he had plans. Too late to change his mind.

"Yeah."

"Great," Doug said, smiling over the rim of his cup.

Which was how, around ten hours later, after a long day at work, Ste ended up with a living room full of over-excited idiots Doug called his best friends.

"Come on, princess," Riley was saying to him, watching Ste check his pockets for wallet and phone and keys. He didn't want to go out without his phone again. "We should be two pints deep by now."

"Yeah, well, we worked late," Ste muttered.

"Where are we going anyway?" Noah asked the room in general. He was perched on the arm of the chair Doug was slumped in, scrolling through his phone. "Not Reflections again."

Or _Rejections_ as Ste liked to call it, the local pit of a nightclub. He couldn't count how many times he'd tried to get them to go to the other club, the one owned by that Fox guy, but for some reason these guys enjoyed the coked-up skanks at Reflections, the easy lay and the STI risks.

"'Course we're going to Reflections," Riley said, rolling his eyes, as if there couldn't possibly be another option. "But we're having a few at Brady's first."

Ste looked up sharply. Out the corner of his eye, he could see that Doug had had a similar reaction.

"Brady's?" Ste asked, swallowing, stomach flipping over.

"Our Ethan here finally got the cash together for a membership, didn't he," Riley said, reaching over and ruffling Ethan's hair, who shoved him away with a scowl.

"I always had the money," he grumbled. "Just didn't see the point of that place."

"Yeah, yeah." Riley grinned, looking around at the group with a look on his face that said _can you believe this idiot?_

"Uh…" Doug got to his feet, trying to look casual. Ste could see the edge of tension lining his body, and the way he was pointedly not looking at him. "You sure about Brady's though? I hear it's pretty dry there on a weekday."

"So we just knock back a couple and move on," Riley said. He clapped Doug on the back, followed by a little push. "Let's go, come on. I'm dying of thirst here."

Ste hung back for a few seconds once everyone piled out, breathing quietly to himself in the silence of his living room. He hadn't expected this to happen so soon—or ever, preferably. For his love life and his social life to clash. If he could call Brendan his love life. If, for that matter, he could call these guys his social life. Brendan wasn't _his_. These friends weren't his. And yet the two were going to collide now, and Brendan would see him for what he really was—a misfit. Not one of the boys. Not part of a decent crowd. No real life of his own, just Doug's hand-outs. Who would want to get involved with a man who obviously had so little going for himself? A business he wasn't allowed to run; friends who barely noticed his existence. Doug, who tolerated him, put up with him. No family, his kids nowhere to be seen. No anything.

"Ste, you coming?" Noah reappeared in the doorway, grinning. "C'mon, the taxi's here."

"Yeah…" The worst thing he could do now was back out. They'd talk about him in the bar, gossip about him, about how pathetic he was, couldn't even enjoy a night out on the town. And Brendan would overhear, would know. At least if he went with them, he could keep some kind of control.

He didn't really have any other option.

::: :::

He saw Brendan straight away, eyes drawn to him like a magnet. He was behind the bar talking to Mitzeee, and farther along the bar, pulling a pint, was that guy he'd seen last night—Brendan's friend.

"First round's on Ste here," Riley said loudly, and clapped him on the back. The pain shot through Ste like an electric current and he hissed and jerked away, should be used to it by now but wasn't, still hit by a wave of agony every time the contact on his back was too rough.

Doug shot him a look of concern, but Ste shook his head, let him know it was okay. The pills he'd taken earlier had taken the edge off Riley's friendly smack, could've been worse.

"'Kay, be back in a minute," he mumbled, and left the guys to find a table while he crossed to the bar.

Brendan noticed him, eyebrows shooting up. He ended his conversation with Mitzeee and approached Ste at the bar, casting his friend Vinnie a wary glance as he did so.

"Hey, thought you had plans tonight," Brendan said, and his eyes were warm on Ste now, his face open, his shirt too tight, material straining over muscle, and Jesus, Ste fancied him.

"Yeah." He jerked his thumb in the general direction of the boys seated at the opposite end of the room. They were already making too much noise. "They wanted to come here, so…"

Brendan eyed them, face unreadable, then looked back over at Ste. "They did?" he asked, mouth curving into a smile. "Or you did?"

"They did." Ste returned a shy smile of his own. "But I'm happy to see you anyway."

Brendan's eyes twinkled at him, but he said nothing, his response written on his face. Ste's skin tingled.

"Uh, so can I get four pints of lager and a rum and coke please?"

Brendan inclined his head, reached for glasses. "This first round's on me." And when Ste shook his head, made to complain, he added, "No arguments."

"You'll never make profit if you keep giving away drinks," Ste said with a smile.

"I only give them to people who—"

"Brendan," said Vinnie, approaching from the side. He nodded vaguely at Ste, apparently unconcerned by the thinly veiled glare Brendan was shooting him. "The till down that end won't open."

"Find Mitzeee and get her to deal with it," Brendan said, jaw clenched a little. Ste watched the exchange with his brows drawn, confused. Wasn't this guy supposed to be an old friend of Brendan's? It was as if he were little more than an irritant to him.

"But—"

"Just do it."

Vinnie huffed and slouched off. Ste watched him go for a moment before turning his gaze back to Brendan. "If that's how you treat your friends…"

Brendan swallowed. Ste could see the roll of his throat. "Me and Vinnie," he said, putting a full pint glass in front of Ste and reaching for another. He didn't make eye contact. "It's a complicated situation."

"Well he's either your friend or he's not."

"If only life were that simple," Brendan said, a hint of a smile on his face now. "Forget about him. He'll be gone soon enough anyway."

"Makes no difference to me," Ste said. But it did a little. Niggled at him. He grabbed the first three pints and carried them over, went back to the bar to collect the last two drinks. Brendan was still standing there, hadn't moved on to the next customer.

"What're you doing after this?" he asked, eyes flicking over to the boys and back to Ste.

"They want to go to Reflections."

Brendan raised an eyebrow. "That dump?"

"Don't need to tell me," Ste said, his tone moody. "Thanks for these," he added, indicating the two glasses in his hand.

"Pleasure," Brendan drawled, then winked at him.

Ste went back to the table with a butterfly in his tummy.

By the time they'd all finished the first drink, Ste was bored. They were talking about football—arguing about it, more like. Try as he might, Ste had never been able to muster up the required amount of interest in football, or any sport for that matter. But something had happened—some manager had been sacked, or a coach or something, and this apparently was enough to ignite a debate between the boys, lots of complicated sporting terminology being thrown around that went right over Ste's head.

He was mildly embarrassed about it—not because he didn't know football, but because it would be plainly obvious to anyone looking in this direction that he didn't fit in here, that he wasn't a part of this exuberant conversation. It would be obvious to Brendan.

Ste sat back in his chair and occupied himself with a game on his phone, trying to pretend he looked busy rather than left out, that he wasn't so pathetic. A hand on his thigh made him jump and he looked up at Doug, who was smiling at him in concern.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, fine." His little man on Temple Run tumbled off the ledge and he sighed, started again.

"It's my round," Doug said to him, his voice quiet and entirely too close, like they were having a secret conversation. "What are you having?"

"Just the same," Ste muttered vaguely. The table had gone quiet, and he was willing to bet that if he looked up, he'd find four pairs of eyes on him, wanting to know why he was being so weird, why he wasn't chatting shit about football and downing pints and scoping the talent for an easy lay.

Most the time he put in the effort to fit in with this group. Tonight, though, he couldn't be bothered.

"Just going to the loo," he said, not meeting anyone's eye as he got up and slipped his phone in his pocket. "Back in a minute."

They started talking again as soon as he walked away from the table. Talking about him, probably. He sighed and swallowed away the discomfort in his throat.

He didn't see Brendan anywhere as he made his way to the bathroom, which he supposed was a blessing, even if looking at Brendan was quickly becoming one of his favourite things to do. But it meant Brendan hadn't witnessed his total social failure. He would be none the wiser to how out of place he was in the world.

After he finished in the bathroom—taking a couple of minutes longer than necessary—and as he tried to cross the room back to the table, he felt a hand close around his wrist, gentle but firm. It was Brendan, stood close and warm, looking into Ste's eyes. "Wanna get out of here?" he asked, voice low, the thumb on his wrist tracing over the skin, his quickened pulse.

Ste cast a glance at his friends, at the drinking game currently going on in his absence. Then back at Brendan, at the pale skin and thick moustache and eyes dark and deep and boring into him. "Okay."

Brendan stared at him a moment longer, searching his eyes. Then he said, "Here," and pressed a set of car keys into his hand. "It's the silver Mercedes out front. I'll meet you there in a couple of minutes."

It was an escape, an exciting one, and Ste chose not think about the consequences. Took the keys and looked at Brendan, bit his lip, and nodded. Brendan released his wrist, let him go, and he crossed the room to the door, gave one last look at his friends, at Doug. Decided not to tell them he was leaving. Didn't want to deal with the reaction.

He'd text Doug after he and Brendan had already left.

He found Brendan's car and got into the passenger seat, resisted having a nose around while he waited. It was a nice car, clean on the inside, no personal touches. The street outside the car was quiet and dark, not many people around, and for the first time all evening Ste allowed himself to relax, sink into the seat.

Brendan joined him five minutes later, grinning as he got into the car and winking at Ste as he took the keys back from him. There was an air of excitement over them that Ste could feel seeping into his skin, like they were naughty schoolboys bunking off a lesson. It made him want to giggle.

"Where are we going then?" he asked as Brendan started the car and adjusted his mirror.

"The drive-thru. I'm starving."

Ste snorted. "You really know how to treat a date, don't you?"

"Nothing but the best for you, sweetheart," Brendan said dryly, still smiling, giving Ste's knee a quick squeeze.

Ste laughed, loudly and freely, as they pulled away and drove off into the night.

::: :::

"Can't believe you still own CDs," Steven was saying as he rummaged through Brendan's glove box. "Johnny Cash, UB40…who the hell is UB40?"

"I know you didn't seriously just ask me that," Brendan said around his mouthful of burger. Steven had finished his own meal a few minutes ago, which had prompted him to start nosing around Brendan's car. Brendan didn't mind. He liked that Steven felt comfortable enough to do so, just like the previous night in his kitchen.

They were parked on the edge of a lake—cliché, Brendan knew, but it was the quietest and most isolated place he could think of. Steven hadn't complained as they rumbled to a stop and Brendan shut off the car, just smiled at him around his straw as he took a sip of his Coke.

"Never heard of 'em," Ste said, sounding distracted. "Eh, what's this?" He grinned over at Brendan, pulling out a couple of CDs. "Cher, Madonna—"

"They were gifts," Brendan muttered, feeling his cheeks warm.

"Who from, your inner diva?" He opened the Cher case and pulled out the disc. "This is well worn, this is. For an unwanted gift."

"Whatever, I like her. Go ahead and judge me." He wiped his fingers on a napkin and then scrunched up the rubbish. "Give us that," he said, nodding to the bundle of rubbish Steven had wedged between his thighs and the empty Coke cup beside him.

Taking all their rubbish, he got out the car and walked to the nearest bin. He could feel Steven's eyes on him as he went and he glanced behind himself, caught Steven's eye, smiled at the way he ducked his gaze as if embarrassed he'd been caught looking.

When he made it back to the car, Steven had the Cher CD playing.

"Had to be done," Steven said as Brendan closed the door and settled back into his seat.

"It's good music."

"But is it, though, Brendan?" Steven asked, his tone teasing. "Really?"

Steven's eyes were alight, brighter than usual, and he looked relaxed, comfortable, shut in this car with Brendan—his skin smooth, his smile warm. Brendan wanted to reach over and touch him, run his fingers across those cheekbones.

"What do you listen to then?" he asked, a distraction from his impulses.

"You know, bit of everything," Steven mumbled, and he didn't look so teasing now.

Brendan grinned wolfishly. "C'mon," he said, nudging Steven's arm. "Tell me."

Steven sighed, but he didn't really sound irritated. Just playing along. "All right, fine, so I'm a gay stereotype. I like club music, maybe bit of Cheryl Cole, Britney…"

Brendan stared at him. "Think I'm gonna have to rethink this whole dating you thing."

"Shut up, you," Steven said, tutting. He gave Brendan a gentle whack on the side of his thigh. "Nowt wrong with Cheryl Cole."

"Nothing," Brendan said. "The word you're looking for is 'nothing'."

"You got a problem with me accent now as well as me music taste?"

"Nope, your accent's fine," Brendan said, watching Steven try not to smile. "It's your inability to speak correct English—"

"Oh, says the Irishman—"

"Don't even try to pretend my accent doesn't turn you on, Steven," Brendan said smoothly, making his accent thicker to hammer the point home.

Steven let out a giggle, like he couldn't help himself. "It is pretty hot," he admitted, looking at Brendan through his lashes, cheeks tinted red.

"That's what you said to me last night," Brendan teased, watching that red on Steven's cheeks stain deliciously darker. "That was before you started going on about how sexy you think I am—"

"Oh my god, stop," Steven whined, covering his whole face with his forearms and hands. "That's dead embarrassing."

Brendan laughed.

"Can't believe I got so drunk." He lowered his arms, revealing the flushed-bright cheeks Brendan was after. "Made a right idiot of myself, didn't I?"

"No," Brendan said quietly. He shifted over in his seat a little, got closer to him. "No, you didn't."

"Can't even remember any of it," Steven said in an embarrassed whisper, looking right into Brendan's eyes. "Hope I didn't, you know…do anything."

Brendan raised an eyebrow.

"Not that I wouldn't want to!" Steven clarified in a rush. "Just that…I hope I didn't."

"You didn't." Brendan smiled at him, but his thoughts were going down a darker path, remembering other things Steven had said last night. He cleared his throat. "Listen. You, uh…you said something else. When you were drunk."

"What?" He sounded wary.

"About how people aren't allowed to touch you. That you panic."

Steven swallowed and broke eye contact, looked down at his lap. Said nothing.

Brendan tasted a kind of muted panic of his own in the back of his throat. He really didn't want to ask the next question, but he was compelled to find the answer. "Steven, I'm sorry, but I have to ask…" He waited for Steven to look up, but he didn't. "Were you—uh. You know. Assaulted?"

Steven did look up then, head jerking up in surprise, lips parting.

"Sexually," Brendan clarified, then clenched his hand into a fist on his thigh, fighting to keep what he felt in check, what this question was making him feel.

Steven's eyes shot open wide. "What? No!"

"All right, okay," Brendan said, breath rushing out of him in overwhelming relief. "I didn't mean to offend you." Steven looked caught in a state of mixed emotions, and Brendan should shut up now, leave it be or risk scaring Steven away. But it was like a vicious scar, and Brendan couldn't help picking at it. "I just…the no-touching thing. There's gotta be a reason."

"It's complicated," Steven said after a long moment. His tone was guarded.

Brendan tried to catch his eye again, but he seemed determined to avoid it. "Do you think you'll ever let yourself be touched again?"

Steven shrugged. "I hope so," he mumbled, sounding dejected. "But…"

"Not right now?"

After a deep breath, Steven looked up at him. "I don't know how to…just let it happen." He was fiddling with his fingers in his lap, nails scratching against skin. "It's like my whole body shuts down and I freeze and I just…" He swallowed. "It's been so long since I've let anyone close enough to try."

Brendan considered his words carefully. He had an idea forming, something of a plan, but he was dealing with something risky here, the potential to ruin everything. But he had to try. If nothing else, he had to try. "How about I don't touch you?" he asked carefully. Steven looked at him in confusion. "For now. I could just…lay there, whatever." He paused to watch comprehension slowly filter into Steven's widening eyes, lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. "You can touch me," he said, keeping his tone soft, calm, unpressured, "don't touch me, look at me, use me…whatever you want. Just—just get used to the feel of another person." Steven licked his lips, stared into Brendan's eyes, looked as though he was hanging on Brendan's every word and yet unable to believe he was hearing them. "I won't touch you. I won't move an inch unless you tell me to."

It took Steven a long time to answer. When he did, his voice was dry, cracked. "You would lay there naked and just let me look at you?"

"I've got nothing to hide," Brendan said, his tone measured. "My body is what it is. You can do what you want with it." He tilted his head to the side, tried to act as though this wasn't stirring a wave of searing heat in his gut, seeping into his bones. "Would you like that?"

Steven swallowed and gave a slight jerk of his head, something like a nod. He still seemed totally unable to look away. "I might."

"Wanna try it?" He cleared his throat after he spoke, words cracking in his chest.

"Now?"

"Yeah."

Steven parted his lips, breath coming out in quickened, soft sighs. His eyes had started to glaze over. "And you really won't—"

"I won't lay a hand on you," Brendan said slowly, soothingly. "Tie me down if you want."

His suggestion made Steven huff a laugh, although it sounded strained. "I could be some psycho for all you know."

"I'll take my chances," Brendan said with a smile.

Steven looked dazed, eyes blown, so turned on and like he didn't know how to deal with it. But then his eyes clouded over, and he dropped his gaze, started picking at his fingers again. "I wouldn't…I wouldn't be any good at anything now, I don't think. It's been too long."

Brendan felt a sudden, overwhelming rush of affection in his chest, and he reached out to place a finger beneath Steven's chin, tip his face back up to look him in the eye. "I'm not looking to get off, Steven."

"Then what's the point?" Steven asked quietly, almost pleadingly.

"You are." He brushed the backs of his fingers along Steven's jaw. "You're the point. It's about you getting comfortable enough to have another person's skin against your own and not freaking out about it. It's about taking the first steps."

He watched, fascinated, as Steven came to a silent decision—watched the turmoil in his eyes, and then the darkening, the flush of his cheeks, his skin warming beneath his touch. Then Steven licked his lips again, and then he nodded, and all thoughts shot straight to Brendan's dick and he hardened, blood searing through his veins.

"My place is free," Steven said, staring at Brendan's mouth.

Brendan gave him an extra moment or two to change his mind, and then started the car.


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: So it's super late and it's shorter than normal but IT'S UP, so yay, that's something, right?**

::: :::

Ste's mouth had run completely dry, his heart hammering in his ears. He couldn't believe he was going to do this, that Brendan had offered himself up so easily. He remembered a time when he had been that free with his own sexuality, with intimacy. When he could touch and be touched and think of nothing but the pursuit of pleasure. He'd lost that ability, had it snatched away from him, but Brendan was offering him a lifeline, a terrifying lifeline he didn't know if he could take, not when it came down to it.

"You okay?"

Brendan's voice startled Ste and he looked across at him, at the way the streetlights cut shadows across his face as they drove through town. He was startlingly attractive, made Ste's stomach lurch whenever he looked at him, whenever Brendan's eyes fell on him with that dark intensity. Brendan never hid how attracted he was to Ste. It made Ste feel in equal parts unworthy and like he was king of the world.

"Yeah." His voice broke on the single word and Brendan noticed, glancing at him with concern etched into his brow.

"Steven…" Brendan shifted in his seat a little, looked in the rear view mirror at the empty road behind them. "I'm not looking to make you do anything you don't want to do."

Ste nodded, tried to find his voice again. "I know."

Brendan's fingers on the gearstick twitched, and Ste felt a sudden, powerful desire to touch his hand. He curled his own hands into fists in his lap to resist the impulse.

"If you want me to just drop you home or back to your friends…"

Ste swallowed. Part of him wanted to collapse with relief, to take the offer and go home alone, not have to deal with any of this—facing his fears or whatever the fuck his therapist used to say. Another part of him itched for Brendan like he'd never itched for any other man before. It was that part of him that scared him, because he wanted Brendan, and he didn't want to let Brendan down, but he had a fear deep down that he wouldn't even be able to get Brendan through his front door. That he'd completely freak out and make a total show of himself.

"Stop the car," he said, and the sudden command made Brendan shoot him a surprised look.

Ste's heart hammered, his hands clammy and shaky, his ears ringing with nerves and terror and an abrupt burst of adrenaline that left him breathless. He'd had no idea he was going to make this decision until he made it, and it had rocked through his system like an earthquake.

"You want me to stop the car?" Brendan asked, obviously blindsided by the request.

Ste nodded. "Yeah, stop the car. Now." He undid his seatbelt and shifted forward in his seat, hand planted on the dashboard for stability and body angled towards Brendan.

"I—"

"Just do it!" Ste snapped, the adrenaline making him impatient.

"Jesus, all right, hold on." Brendan steered the car to the curb in the quiet residential street they'd been halfway along and shut off the car, looked at Ste with his eyebrows raised. "You don't have to escape here, you know. I can just take you home."

"I'm not escaping." Ste licked his lips, chest hitching with each breath. The nerves were making his blood sing and his head spin and this would be the first time he'd made a move on his own initiative inalmost two years… "I want to kiss you."

Brendan blinked at him.

"I'm not gonna be able to do…all that stuff you said…if I can't even kiss you."

After a moment of simply staring at him, lips slightly parted, Brendan cleared his throat and said, "You've already kissed me." His voice sounded tight.

"No." Ste shook his head. Now he was here, in the quiet and darkness, he couldn't stop looking at Brendan's mouth. "You've kissed _me_. I haven't kissed anyone since…"

He couldn't finish his sentence, and the silence hung between them heavily and thick. Until Brendan spoke, his voice still tight, but softer now.

"So kiss me then."

Just like that. As if it were the easiest thing in the world. To most people, it probably was. To Ste, it left him frozen in his seat, staring across at Brendan, unable to move or breathe or even think beyond his panic and desperation to run away from this situation.

Brendan didn't move a muscle. He sat perfectly straight, hands on the seat by his thighs, fingers gripping the upholstery. He was waiting, and his eyes had darkened, and it was as though someone had switched off Ste because nothing was happening, not a bone in his body was moving, until a car suddenly drove past and made him jump, suck in a breath.

"Steven," Brendan said, once the lights from the passing car had faded into the distance. "I promise you, nothing bad is going to happen." He paused, ducked his head a little to gaze deeper into Ste's eyes. "You can trust me. I want you to trust me."

Ste was being ridiculous. It was just a kiss. And he knew, once he gave into the urge, he would be fine. It was just getting to that point. Letting himself go enough to make the move. Two years he'd gone like this, building and building on the mental block, until the fear of intimacy had become this blanket of suffocation from which he could see no way out.

It was just a kiss. He'd been able to accept Brendan's kiss; the first had snuck up on him but the second he'd had a say in, and that had been manageable, enjoyable even. But he was initiating now, taking the power, reclaiming a part of himself he thought long dead.

"Do you want me to—"

"No." He didn't know what Brendan had been about to offer, but he didn't want it. He wanted to kiss him. Nothing else.

He wanted to kiss him _now_.

Heart in his throat and his entire body burning with nerves, Ste leaned forward into Brendan's space. Brendan still hadn't moved.

Ste paused, drew a deep breath, let it out in one long, calming exhalation. Then he turned fully in his seat for a better angle and leaned in until he could feel Brendan's quickened breath against his lips, so close Brendan's eyes were blurry to his gaze.

"Close your eyes," Ste murmured, and Brendan did after a moment or two of looking at him.

The instant before Ste's lips met Brendan's was the single most terrifying sensation Ste had experienced in a long time. Then their lips touched, the lightest of contact, and it was like a wave of relief, a wash-away of nerves. Ste could feel Brendan's swallow rather than see it and it was enough for him to press forward, slant his lips against Brendan's and part them slightly, tips of their tongues ghosting together until Brendan's lips closed over Ste's bottom lip in a soft kiss, his moustache tickling and his lips gentle and then his tongue again, and then Ste's tongue, and the kiss was still tentative and slow and unsure but it was a _kiss_, it was Ste's kiss, and he closed his eyes and allowed himself to feel it, this and only this.

He put a shaky hand against the side of Brendan's face and went in deeper, tongue searching and lips caressing and Brendan taking everything, deliciously accepting, sharing spit and sighs and the quiet moan Ste could feel building in his throat. Two years he'd gone without this, and yet even before he couldn't remember anything quite like this kiss, this all-encompassing swell of pleasure and it was almost euphoric in its intensity, the rush of suppressed desire clashing within Ste in a single rush, _two years_ of it, so powerful it could hurt.

He felt animalistic all of a sudden and the noise he released was growl-like and primal, his hand shifting to the back of Brendan's head and tightening, pressing in deeper with the kiss, quicker, needier. Pulling him in closer, his other hand fisting in his shirt and Brendan still hadn't touched him because he was a man of his word but Ste _wanted_ him to suddenly, craved a hand on him, anything. Kissed Brendan so thoroughly he was _devouring_ him and he had no idea if Brendan was enjoying this, being used and ruined so completely, but he wasn't stopping him and he was kissing him back with power and greed and it was like they wanted to crawl into each other's mouths and bodies and just take, take it all.

Ste was so lost in the kiss that it took him a while to realise the ringing noise wasn't coming from inside his own head. It was Brendan's phone, but Brendan seemed inclined to ignore it, shifting in his seat so he could get leverage and push harder into the kiss and _yes_, there was a hand on Ste now, a gentle palm against the side of his neck and a thumb pressing into his jawbone, a desperate grip and a noise from Brendan's chest, a groan or a whimper or something, or maybe it was from Ste as he adjusted the angle of his head and caught Brendan's bottom lip with his teeth for a moment and now Brendan had groaned, unmistakeable and deep—

The ringing started again but Ste didn't want to know, didn't care, shoved Brendan back until he was sitting upright again and got onto his knees, not breaking the kiss, every intention of straddling Brendan because he felt like that was something he could do now, had the power to do that, get closer like that, the _need_—

The ringing stopped but started again almost instantly and Brendan tore his mouth away from Ste's with a noise that shot straight to Ste's groin, and it was with a heavy shock to his entire system that he realised he was hard and he was halfway to Brendan's lap and—

"God-fucking-dammit," Brendan growled, his voice sounding loud and startling. Ste opened his eyes enough to see Brendan—face flushed and lips swollen and wet—reach out blindly until the ringing stopped and filtered background noise filled the car. "What?" Brendan didn't wait to hear what the other person was going to say. Got his hand back on Ste's jaw and pulled him in again, all teeth and tongue and urgency, and Ste let him, welcomed it, opened his mouth for Brendan and shifted closer on his knees, so close to climbing into his lap.

"Brady, I'm at your bar." The voice came from all directions in the car, a phone call on surround sound, and Ste should feel uncomfortable but didn't, carried on eating at Brendan's mouth and tugging on his hair and building up the nerve to straddle him, to see if Brendan was as hard as he was.

Brendan broke the kiss but didn't go far, pressed his forehead to Ste's cheekbone and his other hand on Ste's thigh, brushing up to his hip, and Ste didn't even feel close to freaking out at the contact—

"Don't you ever go to work?" Brendan said to whoever was on the phone. With a firm grip of Ste's hip and a quick tug, Ste was in Brendan's lap, straddling him, thigh against thigh and groin against groin and Ste swallowed and waited for the panic to come and it was there, itching at the edges of his consciousness, trying to claw its way between him and Brendan and all Ste needed was a distraction, something to fight with—

Brendan was looking deep into his eyes, searching, seeing how he was reacting; Ste smiled and brushed both hands into Brendan's hair and pulled until their mouths met, open and not quite kissing, pressed together and Brendan's lips curling into a smile against his own.

"Listen," said the voice on the phone, "I ain't got time to bullshit with you now. You need to get here."

Brendan swiped his tongue against Ste's bottom lip before pulling back enough to say, "I'm busy." Both hands were gripping Ste's hips now.

"Just get here, Brady, I ain't fucking around with you."

The line went dead and as much as Ste wanted to continue, he sat up straight and bumped his head on the roof of the car instead, hands flat on Brendan's chest. "What were that about?" His voice scratched his throat and he licked his swollen lips, gazing into Brendan's blown eyes. He looked conflicted, but then he sighed and lifted one hand from Ste's hip to rub his brow.

"Warren. I'm gonna have to go see what's going on." He sounded as if it was the last thing he wanted to do, which made Ste's heart jolt. "Jesus Christ."

"Maybe it won't take long," Ste tried, and he felt a bit awkward now, perched on Brendan's lap like this, head angled down awkwardly to avoid the roof.

Brendan smiled up at him. "I'll make sure it doesn't," he said, and then pulled Ste in by his collar for another kiss. It lasted only a moment or two before Ste pulled away and scrambled off his lap and back into his own seat, trying to readjust himself in his trousers without Brendan noticing.

He couldn't believe he'd managed to get hard. With another person.

A sneaky glance at Brendan's crotch proved he wasn't alone. He rolled his lips together to resist the smile, tasting Brendan on his tongue, the phantom touch of a kiss.

Brendan shifted in his seat and sighed again before starting the car. As he pulled away from the curb and back onto the road, he cut Ste a sideways look. "So…no freaking out there."

"No." Ste laughed softly to himself, still caught in amazement. "I can't really believe it. I mean, if you'd told me an hour ago I would've been…" _Basically attacking you_, he thought, but didn't voice it. He figured Brendan understood anyway.

"Well, anything else I can do to help…" Brendan said, his tone light and teasing.

Ste shot him a grin. "I'll bear that in mind."

They made it back to the bar five minutes later and Ste cast a surreptitious glance around for Doug and the others as he followed Brendan inside, but they were nowhere to be seen. He hadn't checked his phone since he'd texted Doug to tell him he wouldn't be coming back that evening, had switched it to silent and ignored its presence in his pocket. He was in no rush to look at it again tonight.

Brendan's events manager Mitzeee was behind the bar, and she was the person Brendan immediately went to. She didn't look happy.

"Out back," she practically grunted at him. "Staff bathroom. Hi Ste," she added, noticing him hovering nearby. "Hope our Brendan's looking after you."

"He's not a toddler, Mitzeee," Brendan said, while Ste offered a meek wave. "What's going on?"

"Go look for yourself." Whatever it was, she was clearly furious about it, glaring daggers at Brendan so piercing, it was a wonder he didn't start bleeding.

"Fine," he bit out. He looked back at Ste. "C'mon."

Ste was quite happy standing out here, not really wanting to get involved, but Brendan didn't leave him time to argue—marched off, expecting Ste to follow. The dominance gave Ste a tiny thrill, if he was going to be completely honest. He followed.

They met a large man in the doorway of the staff bathroom, a man Ste vaguely recognised but couldn't place. He had his arms crossed, and he nodded at Brendan as he approached.

"Brady." He cast Ste a curious look but said nothing to him.

"What's the emergency?" Brendan asked him.

"Your skank of an ex."

"Vinnie?"

"Yeah."

"Not my ex."

"Whatever," said the man—Warren, Ste assumed, the voice sounding familiar from the earlier phone call. "He's in here. It ain't pretty."

Brendan raised an eyebrow at him. "A man's toilet habits are his own business, Foxy."

Warren snorted. "Right."

He shoved the door open wider, allowing Brendan and Ste entry. What Ste saw when he stepped inside made him want to turn around and head straight back out again.

It was the lad from the other night, the one Ste had helped find Brendan's apartment. Vinnie. He was sat on the floor, slumped against a set of pipes, head tilted forward against his chest and the stain of vomit on one jean-clad thigh. His right arm was extended, a black band of some kind wrapped around it. On the floor beside him was a needle.

Brendan stopped dead in front of him and said, simply, "God."

"Yep," said Warren. He nudged Ste with his elbow. "That's his nickname for me."

"Uh," said Ste.

"Shut the fuck up, Foxy," Brendan snapped. He rounded on Warren. "What am I supposed to do with this now?"

Warren shrugged. He had half a smirk on his face. Ste couldn't see what he could possibly be enjoying in this situation. "You can't tell me you didn't see this coming. I saw him for three seconds on your couch and knew he was a smackhead."

"I—he wasn't into any of this when I knew him."

"As far as you know," Warren said. He sighed and uncrossed his arms. "Look, just dump him at the hospital and—"

"No," said Ste.

Brendan and Warren both shot him a look of surprise. Ste tried to resist the impulse to sink into the wall behind him.

"I mean…he hasn't overdosed. He's just high as balls on what's probably a load of half-baked smack."

"Still," said Warren, frowning at him as though he couldn't quite work him out, "he's not our problem."

There was silence for a moment as Warren continued to frown at him and Brendan gazed down at Vinnie's limp form. Then Ste said, "He's Brendan's problem."

When Brendan shot him another unreadable look, Ste added, "He's your friend, in' he? Staying at your place? You can't just leave him at the hospital." He paused, chewed on his lower lip as he cast a glance at Vinnie. "Trust me, that's not where he needs to be until you figure out why he's…you know. Like this now."

Warren tutted. "Where'd you find this one, Brady?" he asked, jerking his thumb in Ste's direction.

"Your mum's bed," Ste shot at him, mildly irritated.

A grin bloomed across Warren's face, but Brendan spoke before he could say anything.

"Steven's right. I need to get him home and talk to him."

Heaving a sigh, Warren pushed himself away from the wall. "I'll get his legs."

"Can walk," came a slurred mumble.

They all looked down at Vinnie, whose head was moving now, an attempt to lift it.

"Jesus, Vinnie." Brendan dropped onto his knees beside him and helped lift his head so he could see into his eyes. He was holding Vinnie's face the same way he'd been holding Ste's earlier as they'd kissed. It made Ste swallow past a dry throat, an uneasy feeling settling in his gut.

Vinnie's eyes were barely open, but he seemed to be trying to focus on Brendan, hand coming up to grip Brendan's wrist. "Bren…"

"The fuck is wrong with you, kid," Brendan mumbled, but he didn't sound annoyed. He sounded worried, like he cared. "C'mon, up." Warren stepped forward to help, but Brendan snapped, "I've got him," tucking Vinnie's arm over his shoulder. Warren backed away, hands raised.

Once Brendan got a half-dead Vinnie onto his feet, slumped against him, he stopped and heaved a breath, gathering himself from the exertion.

He cast Steven an uneasy look before his gaze crossed to Warren. "Can you drive Steven back to mine?"

"No, it's okay," Ste said. He'd rather be literally anywhere else than at Brendan's with this situation right now. "I'm just gonna go home."

Brendan huffed at him, lips pressed together. He looked as though he wanted to say something, but unable to with such company around them. "You sure?" He heaved Vinnie further into his body, pulled his arm tighter around his shoulders. Vinnie was vaguely conscious now, gazing at Ste blankly, eyes so blown they looked black.

"Yeah. Yeah, it's fine." Ste attempted a smile. "You're busy. I'll just…" He started backing towards the door. "I'll call you." He left the room before anyone could say anything to him or before he could truly register the disappointment and concern in Brendan's eyes.

This wasn't how the night was so supposed to end.

Warren caught up with him before he could get too far. "Hey, kid, hold on." When Ste turned to look at him, he added, "Give me five minutes to talk to Mitzeee and I'll give you a lift home."

"No, you're all right, thanks."

"What, you're gonna waste money on a taxi? Brendan just told me you ain't got your car with you."

That was true, and it wasn't as though he relished spending money on a taxi, but this Warren guy unnerved him a little.

"Go on," said Warren, apparently having made Ste's mind up for him. "It's the blue BMW. Go wait by it and I'll be out in a few minutes."

Ste sighed and gave in. There wasn't really any point arguing, and he knew he didn't have anything to worry about, so he nodded.

"Good lad," said Warren, tapping him on the shoulder before walking off.

Ste found the car outside and leant against the passenger side, arms crossed over his chest against the late evening breeze. After a minute or so he noticed movement by the door of Brady's and a second later he watched Brendan emerge, still supporting the weight of Vinnie. Ste kept watching from his vantage point across the street, the careful way in which Brendan manoeuvred Vinnie to his car, then helped him into the back seat.

He handled Vinnie with care and gentleness. Ste was glad to see it even as his chest flooded with worry. There was obviously a story there, a history. And while it wasn't his business, he desperately wanted to know the details.

He carried on watching, expecting Brendan to get into the car and drive off, but instead Brendan shut the door and headed across the street towards Ste. Brendan smiled when he got close enough, confident and sure, and Ste didn't get chance to say hi or bye or whatever the fuck before Brendan walked right up to him and kissed his breath away, hands on either side of Ste's face.

It was a deep, frenzied kiss, over before Ste could get any thoughts in order. "An apology for ruining the night," Brendan murmured as he moved away, hands still holding on, breath ghosting over Ste's lips.

Ste rolled his eyes, his heart still thumping. "Not your fault."

"Sure you don't wanna come back to mine?" Brendan asked, thumbs running back and forth over Ste's cheekbones.

"Nah." Ste gave the hem of Brendan's shirt a little tug. "You need to deal with this. I'll just be in the way."

"I want you in the way," Brendan said before ducking in for another kiss, and it sounded to Ste's ears like _I want you_.

"All right, ladies, break it up. I just ate." Warren had arrived, crashing into their moment like a disgruntled bull. "Stop infecting my car with gay."

Brendan pulled away, giving Ste a look that said, _I know, he's an idiot_, before swiping his thumb over Ste's bottom lip and stepping back. "I'll call you tomorrow."

"Okay." Ste was smiling. He couldn't help it. Despite the situation, he couldn't deny he was feeling happier in this moment than he had for a long time.

"Get in the car," Warren huffed, going round to the driver's side and unlocking. "Brady," he added, looking over at Brendan. "In a bit, yeah? Put the kettle on. And get Declan to pack a bag." His face had clouded over now, some kind of silent message passing between him and Brendan. "He'll stay at mine tonight."

Brendan gave a stoic nod before winking at Ste and walking away.

Ste and Warren made it almost to Ste's place before either of them spoke. The radio was on quiet, until Warren reached over and switched it off.

"So you and Brady." When Ste's response was a raised eyebrow, he added, "How's that going?"

"It's, you know…going." Ste didn't really have any idea what he could say about it. It would have helped to know himself exactly what he and Brendan were now, but it wasn't as though they'd had chance for that conversation.

Warren grunted, but said nothing.

"I know you, don't I? You look familiar."

"You will do," Warren said, smirking at him, "if you stick with Brady."

"Yeah? You're good friends?"

"Something like that. We go way back." Warren paused, and just when Ste thought the conversation had ended, Warren cast him an unreadable look and said, "You're in trouble, kid."

Ste blinked at him. "What?"

"Brady," Warren stated. "Like I said, we go way back. No one knows him like I do." He pulled up outside Ste's flat and shut off the car. He twisted in his seat to better see Ste, face shrouded in shadow. "He's never looked at a fella the way he looks at you."

"What—" Ste swallowed, cleared his throat. "What do you mean?"

"What do you think I mean?" Warren tutted, shook his head a little. "He's known you a couple of weeks and he's halfway hooked on you already. You can't tell me you don't see it."

Ste didn't know what to say to that, how to react. All he could feel was his heart rising into his throat and his mouth running dry.

"Look at you," Warren said, smirking now. "Skinny little scally like you, with the great big Brendan Brady sitting pretty in the palm of your hand. I'd laugh if it wasn't so pathetic." He did laugh, but it didn't sound pleasant. "Hope you can handle it, kid."

Ste wasn't sure he could, but after tonight, he really wanted to.

::: :::


	7. Chapter 7

He'd thought about putting Vinnie in his bed, about allowing him to sleep it off in optimum warmth and comfort. In the end he'd dumped Vinnie on the couch, because fuck him.

He watched him now, in the dim light of dawn, perched on the edge of the coffee table and staring at Vinnie's sleeping face. Cheekbones and jawline prominent, eye bags and grey skin in place of the golden youth he'd once known. This was not the same kid he'd spent his nights with all that time ago; that kid had been damaged and broken, but clinging on to hope, a happiness Brendan could never have given him. This Vinnie, the one who'd shot up in a bathroom and laid there waiting for Brendan to rescue him, was not someone Brendan would have even thought to touch.

He'd made Vinnie a promise once, promised him he would never give him what he needed.

But what Vinnie needed now was help, and Brendan could break that promise.

"Hey." He touched Vinnie's bony shoulder, gave it a little shake. "Vinnie."

Vinnie stirred, mumbling something indistinct, before his eyes shot open and he stared up at the ceiling wildly, trying to piece everything together—where he was, what time it was, what the fuck happened. Brendan could see it all coming together in his eyes, in the transformation of his face from confusion to realisation, until his expression smoothed out and he turned his head on the cushion to look at Brendan, an attempt at a wary smile curving his lips.

"Brendan…"

Brendan leaned his elbows on his knees and took stock of the idiot kid before him, searched his eyes for a hint of remaining intoxication. "You good? You with me?"

Vinnie blinked. "I'm not an addict," he said, and it was the last thing he expected Vinnie to say first. He'd expected avoidance, not direct honesty about fucking up.

"Yeah?" Brendan raised an eyebrow, but kept the rest of his features neutral. "Just a hobby, is it?"

Vinnie pushed himself up to sit, wincing at some kind of pain. Brendan wondered if it was his bones, his muscles; he wondered if it was something deeper, like emotion.

"I found your stash." Vinnie shot him a surprised look, and Brendan waited for the pathetic whine about going through his pockets, taking what didn't belong to him. But it never came. Vinnie didn't protest at all. It gave Brendan some disappointment. He wanted a fight. "Flushed it."

Vinnie nodded, resigned, like he'd expected that. "I don't need it," he said, his tone imploring. "I'm really not an addict. I swear. I just…" He searched for words.

"Want it sometimes?"

Vinnie licked his lips. "Yeah. Yeah. Sometimes." He'd gone faintly red.

"Well you don't want it anymore." Brendan stood, smoothed out his shirt. "You hear me? You're done with that shit."

He walked away before Vinnie could object, headed to the kitchen and his morning coffee. He was up earlier than he usually liked, but he'd been unable to sleep easy, too many things on his mind: a combination of worry about this stupid kid on his couch, and the pleasure of Steven.

He flicked on the kettle, and nearly jumped when Vinnie spoke from the doorway behind him.

"Am I sacked?"

Brendan took a long breath. He'd sacked better men for less. "No." He turned to look at him, at the pathetic shape of his nothing-there body leaning against the doorframe. "Get yourself cleaned up and dressed. Declan'll be back soon looking to get ready for college."

Vinnie's eyes widened and he looked over his shoulder as if expecting to find Declan stood in the middle of the living room. "He didn't stay here last night?"

"No," said Brendan, turning back to the kettle. "I didn't want my kid under the same roof as a smackhead."

"I'm not a smackhead."

Brendan laughed bitterly to himself, spooned coffee into two mugs. "We'll see."

::: :::

Warren wandered in a little after seven. Brendan didn't remember ever giving Warren a key, but neither could he remember the last time he'd had to open the door for him. He should probably ask him about that.

"Morning."

"Where's Declan?"

"Shop down the road," Warren said, "getting an energy drink or whatever pussy shit the kids are drinking these days."

Brendan rolled his eyes and went back to tying his shoes while Warren disappeared into the kitchen. He emerged a minute later with a coffee in hand, the smell of toast-in-progress following him.

"Jam on mine," Brendan said, standing up and examining himself in the mirror over the fireplace.

"Yes, dear." Warren perched on the arm of the couch and sipped his coffee. "Where's the smackhead?"

"Shower. And not a smackhead apparently."

Warren snorted. "That's what all the smackheads say when they're passed out in a filthy bathroom."

"Hey. My staff bathroom is not filthy." Satisfied every hair was in place, Brendan turned away from the mirror and started on his cuffs. "Toast's gonna burn."

Warren waved a hand. "Never mind that. Let's talk about that kid you're boning."

"Boning?" Brendan lifted an eyebrow at him, let him know exactly how deplorable he found him. "And he's in his twenties. Try not to paint me as a paedo."

"Whatever. He's young."

"Jealous?"

"Yeah, actually, I am as it goes. Why do you always get the young ones?"

"Switch teams," Brendan advised. "Those skinny little twinks love a bear."

"I'm not a bear," Warren protested, but he didn't sound offended by the idea. He rubbed a hand against his jaw. "Can't grow enough of a beard."

"I hear Vinnie's available," Brendan said, then headed to the kitchen, leaving Warren to ponder that option. "I'll make the toast, will I?"

Declan staggered in a few minutes later, quickly followed by Mitzeee, and suddenly it was like a party in Brendan's living room at seven-thirty in the fucking morning.

"None of you got anywhere better to go?" he called through the kitchen doorway, buttering way more toast than he'd anticipated and grumpy for it.

Mitzeee appeared in the doorway. Even at arse o'clock in the morning, she still looked glamorous as fuck. Brendan kind of hated her. "I came to see if that stupid kid lived through the night. Oooh, yes please. I'll have some real butter on mine if you have it. Can't stand marge."

"Don't think your hips can take any more, Mitz," Warren said, approaching behind her and giving her arse a long, appreciative look. "They're already trying to escape that dress."

Mitzeee gave him the finger over her shoulder without turning to look at him. "So did he?"

Brendan glanced at her. "What?"

"Live through the night."

"Right as fucking rain this morning," Brendan said, cutting a stack of toast in half and shoving it on a plate, which he then handed to Mitzeee. "Take that through. You," he said, pointing through the doorway at Declan slumped on the couch, "come make some coffee."

Declan sighed and huffed and objected all the way to the kitchen. "Drag me out of bed in the middle of the night and then expect me to make coffee the next morning…"

"Middle of the night?" Warren raised an eyebrow at him. "It was ten o'clock, Grandpa."

"Whatever." Declan wrenched the kettle off the stand and started filling it. "I was asleep. Not my fault Dad dragged home some smackhead and kicked me out of my own home."

"Not a smackhead apparently," Warren said, sounding amused. "And don't act like you don't have the time of your fucking life every time you stay at mine."

"Oh yeah," Declan drawled. "Babestation and warm beer."

"Exactly," said Warren, like there couldn't be anything better.

Mitzeee wrinkled her nose. "Babestation?"

"Jealous, princess?" Warren asked, grinning at her.

"Of some skank shaking her tits for pocket change?" Mitzeee snorted. "Come back to me when you wanna see a real woman in action."

Warren looked as if he didn't know whether to take that as a genuine invitation or not, eyebrows raised and lips parting. Brendan would find it funny if he wasn't getting fucked off with his kitchen being so full. It wasn't exactly a big fucking room, for god's sake.

"Didn't I ask you to take that through?" he asked, nodding at the plate of toast in Mitzeee's hand. "If that goes cold before anyone eats it, so help me god—"

"Oh keep your knickers on," Mitzeee huffed. "Declan, hun. Get your dad another coffee quick before he starts menstruating."

They were all sitting at the table and halfway through the toast before Vinnie appeared, looking cleaner and marginally more presentable. Everyone shut up to look at him.

"Thought you'd drowned in there," Brendan said.

Vinnie went red under the observation of them all. "Yeah, sorry about that…"

"Forget it. Come and eat something."

He approached the table cautiously, shooting them all wary smiles before slowly settling into the seat beside Declan, who gave him a look of distaste and shuffled away a few inches. Brendan sighed. Happy fucking families indeed. Warren smirked.

"So what's on everyone's agenda today?" Mitzeee asked, tone overly bright, filling the silence like a foghorn.

"College," Declan grunted.

"Great," she said, grinning. Brendan wanted to laugh at her, exchanged a look with Warren. "Well I've got a meeting in an hour for that corporate thing. _Why_ anyone would want to talk cocktails this early is anyone's guess—"

"Take Vinnie in with you," Brendan interrupted, an idea forming. If he could get Vinnie off his hands for a few hours, then that would give him time for something far more enjoyable. "Get him on restock duty."

"Uh." Her grin faltered. "Okay. We'll head over in about twenty minutes, Vinnie, okay?" It was as though she didn't know how to talk to him like an adult.

He looked startled to suddenly find himself the focus of Mitzeee's attention. He'd been picking at a slice of toast, not eating it, and Brendan frowned at him. "Yeah, okay." He cast an uneasy glance around the table before looking at Mitzeee again. "But I mean I can meet you there if you want to go home first. I don't need to tag along for that."

"Tag along for what?"

"For—uh." He was rapidly burning red, drawing confused looks from everyone at the table. "I just thought…your outfit."

Her eyelids fluttered in barely concealed irritation. Brendan looked at what she was wearing. True enough, it was probably the tiniest dress she owned, but then he tended to think that about almost everything she wore.

"What about her outfit?" Warren asked.

"Nothing," Vinnie said in a rush, raising a hand. "It's just she said she had a business meeting so I assumed…"

Warren smiled at him. "Assumed what?" Mitzeee's arm shifted, putting her hand on Warren's thigh. Probably squeezing it to get him to shut up. "I hope you're not suggesting what I think you're suggesting, kid."

"Of course he is," Mitzeee said through a tight smile. "It's what everyone thinks. If I cared enough, I'd dress differently, wouldn't I?"

Vinnie looked mortified. "No—"

"Leave it now," Brendan murmured, "before you dig a hole."

"I just assumed for a corporate meeting she would wear something more—"

"Seriously," said Declan, huffing, "know when to shut up."

"And if you talk to the lady like that again," Warren said calmly, stuffing half a slice of toast in his mouth and talking around it, "I'll break your fucking neck."

"I don't need you to defend my virtue, Warren," Mitzeee said, but she didn't sound annoyed with him.

"You have virtue?"

She stuck her tongue out at him, and then squealed when he poked her in the ribs, smacking into Declan's side, which made him start bitching about spilling his coffee in his lap.

Brendan rubbed his temples.

::: :::

Ste was midway through trying to reach the centre of his back with the cream when someone knocked on the front door. He sighed and wiped the cream off his fingers, then threw on a T-shirt, which he didn't like to do while the cream was still wet. It made the material cling to his back and rub uncomfortably, and he rolled his shoulders to try to dislodge it as he went to answer the door.

It was Doug, and he looked hungover as fuck.

"You look well rough," Ste commented, heading back to the bathroom, leaving Doug to shut the door behind himself and follow him.

Doug stopped in the doorway of the bathroom, watching Ste remove his T-shirt again. "What happened to you last night?" He didn't sound happy.

Ste shrugged. "Just wasn't in the mood." He reached for the cream again, avoided looking at himself in the mirror, like he always did when he was topless. "I sent you a text."

"Well you didn't come back here. I checked."

Ste shot him a look. "You came all the way back here to check on me?"

"Yes," said Doug tightly. "I was worried. You just disappeared." There was a pause, and then, "I didn't see Brendan again either."

"Here, make yourself useful," Ste said, handing Doug the tub of cream. He turned his back on Doug and stood with his head bowed, arms by his side. "I can't reach the middle."

Doug sighed from behind him, and Ste heard the scrape of the lid being removed. "You're still doing this every week?" he asked, just before the cold cream touched Ste's back.

"Yep."

"Good." Doug rubbed the cream in, his movements slow and gentle, soothing. "I can see an improvement."

Ste snorted. "Sure you can."

"No, really. I think this cream is really working."

Ste didn't respond. Whenever he caught glimpses of his back, he saw nothing but horror.

"It's going well with Brendan then," Doug murmured, moving on to Ste's shoulders. Ste had already done that area, but he liked how it felt, so he didn't stop him. "You spent the night with him?"

"I spent the evening with him." Ste felt a flush developing, fought to keep it away. "I came back here after."

"Have you and him—"

"No," said Ste, uncomfortable now. He shrugged off Doug's touch and moved away, reached for his T-shirt.

Doug replaced the lid, grabbed a towel to wipe his hands. He didn't look at Ste as he said, "Don't rush it."

"Just leave it, Doug." He shouldered his way past Doug, T-shirt in hand, willing his back to dry quicker so he could put his T-shirt back on and not walk around so exposed.

"You can't blame me for worrying about you," Doug said, following him into the kitchen. "It's only been—"

"Two years." Ste rounded on him, exasperated. "It's been two years, Doug. How much longer do I have to wait before I'm ready, eh?"

"Hey, I'm not saying that." Doug raised his hands, submissive. "I just… It's a big step, after what happened. I don't want you to…"

"What?"

"You've just made so much progress," Doug said slowly, calmly. "I'd hate for you to take a step back because you've rushed into something you're not ready for."

Ste sighed, deflating. "I don't know if I'm ready," he admitted. "Probably not. But…I don't know. With Brendan it feels…"

"Good?" Doug prompted, his tone weirdly steady.

"Safe," Ste said. "It feels safe."

Silence followed Ste's words, heavy and deafening. Then Doug said, "There are rumours, you know. About Brendan."

Ste turned away from him, grabbed the sponge and the washing-up bottle with the vague intention of doing the dishes. "I don't wanna know."

"About the kind of man he is," Doug pressed. "The things he's done."

"I said I don't wanna know, Doug." Ste threw the sponge back into the sink and looked around at Doug. "Whatever past he has, it doesn't matter. I can make up my own mind about him, right."

Doug maintained steady eye contact. "I'm just saying 'safe' might be a bit off the mark."

"Right, what about this." Ste turned and slumped back against the counter, crossed his arms tightly over his chest. "If it goes wrong and I get fucked over and end up back in hospital or worse, then I give you permission right now to say you told me so, all right?"

"Ste, that's not—"

"Until then," Ste said firmly, "keep your opinions to yourself."

Doug looked as though he was bursting to say something else, lips pressed together and eyes fiery. In the end, all he said was, "Fine," the word clipped out and tight.

"Good," said Ste. "Now don't you have some breakfast meeting with a client?" He checked the clock. "You're gonna be late."

Sighing and rubbing his forehead, as if Ste did little more than exhaust him, Doug asked, "When are you heading in to the unit?"

"About ten."

With little else to say, Doug left shortly after. Ste didn't like leaving things so tense between them, but neither was he in the mood for a row to clear the air. Maybe he'd take Doug out for a drink later, thank him for looking out for him, even if he was being a little overbearing with his concern.

Ste couldn't really blame him. If it weren't for Doug, he'd be dead. He had a lot to thank him for. And Doug was right: Ste didn't know Brendan, not really. He knew the Brendan he spent time with—the warm, attractive, gentlemanly Brendan, the one who got Ste hot under the collar and had him thinking things he'd long since given up on. The one who looked at Ste and made him feel special and wanted and normal.

But Brendan had a past. Everyone had a past. Ste definitely had a past, and he'd pay anything to avoid Brendan ever finding out about it. And if he wasn't prepared to share his own story with Brendan, he had no right to demand Brendan share his with him. Not yet. If things ever got serious enough, then maybe; if they got to the point where Ste felt Brendan had become an integral part of his life, then perhaps he'd have to dig deeper, find out the kind of man he was dealing with.

For now, he was happy to carry on as they were, getting to know each other, enjoying their time together. He hoped, as it stood, that it was enough for Brendan.

And Brendan was certainly keen. He called Ste at just shy of eight-thirty, his voice like melted caramel in Ste's ear.

"Hope I didn't wake you."

"No," said Ste, smiling and muting the TV. He'd planned a morning on the couch before he had to go to work, feet up on the coffee table and the dishes still waiting for his attention. "I've been up a couple of hours."

"Good." His voice was echoey and distant, and Ste figured he was driving. "I'm in your neighbourhood."

"You can't come here!" Ste shot up off the couch in alarm, looked around at the bombsite of his flat. "The place is a mess."

"So?"

"So I don't want you to think I'm a slob."

"You've just admitted you're a slob," Brendan said, sounding amused.

"Yeah, but I don't want you to _see_ it." Ste laughed to himself in mild horror and calculated how much he could clean up and hide away in the next two minutes.

"Come out then," Brendan said. "I'm going to see the new wine bar. You can give me your opinion."

Ste grinned. "What if I've got work?"

"Have you got work?"

"Not for a while," Ste said, laughing again.

"Get yourself out here," Brendan said, his tone like velvet over sandpaper. "I'm waiting."

The line went dead, and Ste blinked at the abruptness of it. Then he crossed to the window and peeked through the net curtains, and sure enough, Brendan's car was sat outside. Ste swallowed and rushed to the nearest mirror, checked his hair and his teeth, grabbed a nearby bottle of deodorant and sprayed himself before pulling his T-shirt on, then a jacket.

He'd only seen him less than twelve hours ago. Either Brendan _really_ liked him, or he was bored out of his skull. Warren's words of warning flashed through his mind.

"Hiya," he said as he climbed into the car a minute or so later. Brendan was wearing sunglasses and a black shirt with the top two buttons undone, sleeves rolled up his forearms, skin peeking out from every which way and it was all Ste could do not to stare.

"Morning." Brendan smiled at him. Ste couldn't see his eyes through the sunglasses, which was a little disappointing; Brendan's eyes were the most expressive thing about him.

Ste reached for his seatbelt and hesitated. This would be the moment he leaned over and gave Brendan a good-morning kiss, like any normal person greeting the guy he was seeing. And perhaps if he'd just done it the instant the thought entered his head, he'd be okay. But now the thought had settled in his mind and become a _thing_ and it made him feel awkward, overthinking it—what if Brendan wasn't even interested in a kiss? Because he had no hang-ups, and if he wanted one, he would have made the move himself by now.

Ste took a breath and secured his seatbelt, settled into the seat. Brendan was looking at him, expression unreadable thanks to the damn sunglasses, but the look extended for a moment or two longer than necessary and Ste felt a buzz beneath his skin.

"Ready to go?"

Ste nodded. "Yep."

They crossed town in comfortable silence, the radio playing softly. Brendan was drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, playing along to the beat, looking content and relaxed in Ste's presence.

"So you're really gonna buy this wine bar?" Ste asked as they passed by the high street and headed towards the other side of town.

"Thinking about it." Brendan shot him a smile. "I've already gone over the business side of things and it's looking good. Today's the second viewing of the property."

"Lot of work that, though, innit. Another business."

"Yeah, it's a lot to consider." He glanced over at Ste. "You look good today."

Ste blushed. "Thanks," he mumbled.

Brendan laughed and gave his thigh a quick squeeze. "Don't freak out, it's only a compliment."

They were met at the door of the bar by a grey-haired, stern-looking man who introduced himself as Mr Jameson. "I'm the agent working on behalf of the owner," he explained, shaking Brendan's hand.

"This is my friend Steven," Brendan said, indicating Ste stood beside him. "He'll be viewing the place with me today."

Mr Jameson nodded. "Very well." He didn't bother shaking Ste's hand, instead got out a set of keys and let them into the building.

The main floor of the wine bar didn't do much for Ste. It was a bit bigger than Brendan's own, probably, and decorated with brighter colours, more tables and lower lighting. But it looked much the same as any other bar he'd visited. Brendan was looking around it with a critical eye, though, probably seeing things Ste wouldn't even think to look for. My Jameson pointed things out as they strolled through, talked about the bar and the upholstery, the art on the walls and the atmosphere.

Ste got a bit bored after a few minutes and Brendan noticed, smirking at him and giving him a nudge behind Mr Jameson's back. Ste barely resisted sticking out his tongue.

They went through to the kitchen next, which was more like it for Ste. Large, well equipped, lots of light and space, top-of-the-range industrial appliances. He looked around it with stars in his eyes, and it took him a moment to realise his mouth was gaping.

"Thought this might perk you up," Brendan said, smiling at him and watching his face. Ste flashed him a grin.

"The business is marketed as an exclusive wine bar first and foremost," Mr Jameson said. "But it's become known for its excellent cuisine. The owner was considering plans to transform it into a full-service restaurant before he decided to sell instead."

Ste ran his finger across stainless steel, granite and tile, opened doors and lifted lids and generally had a good nose around. This was the kind of kitchen he dreamed of, a kitchen he saw himself stood in the centre of, passionate chefs all around him.

"Who's the head chef?" he asked Mr Jameson, turning to find Brendan still watching him.

"Currently the role is unfilled on a permanent basis," said Mr Jameson. He flipped open the folder he'd been carrying and scanned a document. "A Mr Harman is filling in temporarily until the changeover."

Ste snorted. "That amateur."

Brendan grinned at him.

"If you'd like to follow me, I'll take you through to the office space and storage rooms." Mr Jameson gave them a polite smile and left the kitchen, shoes click-clacking obnoxiously. Ste moved to follow him as requested, but Brendan stopped him with a hand around his arm.

"Hey," he murmured, then pulled Ste back and into the corner, the little nook between fridge and counter. Crowded in close and smiled in the instant before he leaned in, hands on either side of Ste's face, framing him and holding him and guiding him into a kiss.

Ste's heart leapt into his throat and his breath caught and he closed his eyes, tilted his head a little, one hand flat on Brendan's chest where his heart beat and the other against the wall beside his own hip, anchoring him.

Brendan kissed him like he was exploring him, slow and searching and deep. The kiss was wet and thorough, and so warm, the soft press of Brendan's lips and the slick swipe of his tongue and Ste's toes curled in his shoes, Brendan's moustache a contrast to the silk of his mouth.

The click-clacking returned, followed by, "Gentlemen?" and Brendan pulled away with a smile, eyes twinkling, thumb gliding over Ste's lips, his own lips glistening with Ste's spit.

"This way, gentlemen," said Mr Jameson, and the frown on his face as he scowled at them made Ste giggle and Brendan smirk and just for a moment he wanted to press into Brendan's body, wrap himself in Brendan's heat.

"Think we're in trouble," Brendan whispered mischievously.

They broke out of the corner and followed a disapproving Mr Jameson like the naughty boys they were, Brendan's hand loose and comfortable on the small of Ste's back.

::: :::

Brendan pulled up outside Steven's flat and switched off the car. The morning was getting on, and Steven had to get to work, even if Brendan wanted to just stay in this car and kiss him breathless like a horny teenager, a replay of the night before. That had been heading somewhere good, somewhere Brendan wanted to revisit.

"So I'll see you later?" he asked as Steven unclipped his seatbelt.

Steven looked up at him in surprise. "Tonight?"

He shrugged one shoulder. "This weekend. You doing anything?"

"Yeah, my kids are coming down," Steven said, and he didn't sound apologetic about it. The visit from his kids was obviously the highlight of his week and Brendan wasn't going to begrudge him it.

"Tonight then," said Brendan. "If you're gonna make me wait until next week otherwise."

Steven grinned, lighting up his whole face. "Just can't stay away, you."

"What can I say," Brendan crooned, pinching a bit of Steven's T-shirt between his thumb and finger and tugging him closer. "You're addictive." He kissed him, but he kept it chaste, and when he pulled away, lips clinging, he said, "Come over tonight. Declan's out and Vinnie's working."

Steven's eyes widened and he sat up straight, his T-shirt slipping out of Brendan's grip. "How is Vinnie?" He looked as though he couldn't believe he'd gone so long without asking.

"Alive and well." He brushed his fingers over Steven's hair at his temple, watched as he leaned into it, a seemingly subconscious move. Bit by bit, Steven was growing more comfortable with him, with his presence and his proximity and his touch. It sent a thrill of excitement through Brendan's blood, the prospect of what might come next. "So tonight?"

"You're not working?"

"I can take a night off."

"You're taking a lot of nights off lately," Steven said with another one of his bright grins.

Brendan gave a little tilt of his head. "Perks of being the boss."

"Plenty of them, apparently," Steven said breezily. "Okay, fine, I'll see you later." And this time it was him who went in for the quick kiss, leaving Brendan a little dazed long after Steven had exited the car.

::: :::

Steven arrived around eight, looking fresh-faced and cheerful. He accepted the kiss Brendan gave him in greeting and then immediately started rummaging around Brendan's kitchen for food.

"There's still nothing there, Steven," Brendan said in amusement.

"No there is, look. Got some pasta here, bit of garlic, there's a few tomatoes in your fridge…"

Brendan raised an eyebrow at him. "Shouldn't I be cooking the dinner?"

"Can you cook?"

"No," Brendan admitted. "But I've got excellent takeaway ordering skills."

Steven laughed. "We'll save those for next time."

Brendan took on the very noble responsibility of pouring the wine while Steven cooked, chattering away about all the things Brendan could do with the new wine bar, the menus he could create, the suppliers he could use. It was nice to hear him so passionate, but it was aimed at Brendan's business, not his own, and it gave him some concern about Steven's current happiness in his life.

He didn't push, though, because he didn't want to put anyone on a downer. So instead he drank, and he listened to Steven talk, and afterwards they say at the table and Brendan found an old candle in a drawer and they ate dinner together under the glow of soft lighting.

It was shamefully domestic and normal. Brendan would never admit how much he enjoyed it.

Later, once Brendan argued with Steven about how he was _not_ doing the dishes, neither of them were, they settled on the couch and Brendan popped in a DVD. The Avengers, because fuck yeah.

Steven was sitting close, closer than Brendan expected, and it was a battle of wills to not just turn in his seat and start peeling his clothes off. He didn't have much hope for things heading in that direction tonight, but Steven seemed loose and amiable, and maybe… There was a spark in the air, sinking into his skin, and he distracted himself with the film because otherwise he could get himself into trouble.

Brendan loved this whole battle sequence; didn't matter how many times he'd seen it, he still lost time watching it, mesmerised. The Hulk was about to Smash when beside him, Steven murmured, "Brendan."

"Hmm?"

Brendan looked at him to discover Steven wasn't watching the screen. His eyes were on Brendan, and they had a dazed tint to them; the tops of his cheeks were flushed, his lids heavy, his tongue creeping out to lick his lips compulsively. He looked nervous. Nervous and something more thrilling.

Steven tipped forward and pressed his forehead to Brendan's, the ghost of a kiss before he stopped, breathing against Brendan's mouth. He was shaking, and it was making Brendan feel like he was going to start shaking too.

"Can we go to the bedroom?"

Brendan swallowed, gripped the edges of the couch cushion beneath him. Steven's whole body was burning; Brendan could feel it without touching him, the heat radiating and rolling over him, setting his skin alight. "Yeah. Yeah, if you want."

Steven closed his eyes, his breath hitching. "That thing you said. Do you still—"

"Yeah." He could give him that. He'd give him anything he wanted right now.

Steven leaned back and nodded. He looked terrified but determined, and Brendan wasn't sure, didn't know how this would play out, but he wanted to try, for Steven's sake as much as his own. He picked up the remote and switched off the TV. The sudden silence brought to light Steven's quickened breath, the creak of the sofa as they stood up in tandem.

Brendan considered holding out his hand for Steven to take, lead him to the bedroom. But this was supposed to be about Brendan not touching him, letting Steven explore and relearn at his own pace, in his own way, however he wanted. So instead he gave Steven a smile, hoped it was reassuring, waited for Steven to return a wobbly smile of his own. Then he headed to his bedroom, the shuffle of Steven's footsteps following him.

They entered the bedroom and Steven closed the door behind them, leaned back against it with his hands flat to the wood, as if he needed to stay in contact with the escape route for now. Brendan didn't take it personally.

"It's gonna be okay," he said to him, keeping his tone low and comforting. "Back out at any time." When Steven nodded, licked his lips again, he added, "The light…?"

"Leave it on for now," Steven said, his voice scratchy and dry. He had his head angled back a little against the door, gazing at Brendan through his lashes, heavy-lidded and dark. His lips were parted, stained red with heated blood. Brendan could see the pulse in his neck fluttering wildly.

Brendan didn't say anything else. He would begin, and he would wait for Steven to tell him to stop or slow down or do something differently. He'd take his cue from Steven, do anything he wanted.

He started by removing his watch. Took his time undoing the strap, in no rush, placed it flat on the cabinet, face up. Then he sat on the foot of the bed and leaned down to undo his shoes. He didn't look up at Steven, didn't think he could handle it; but he could hear him, his breathing, and he could feel him. Feel his gaze; feel his nerves and excitement.

Laces undone, he slipped off his shoes and then took off his socks, tucked them both into one of the shoes. He stood then, barefoot and loose, rolled his shoulders and his neck and eased the tension he could feel building there, the pull of anticipation.

He met Steven's eye finally as he unclasped one cuff, and then the other. Steven hadn't moved, hadn't spoken, looked as though he was barely breathing. He was watching Brendan with rapt fascination, directly intense, taking in his every movement as though he were something to appreciate and savour, not the everyman undressing an okay body. Brendan liked his own body, his build and physique, but he was older and it showed; he wondered how Steven would find it, if Steven usually went for older men, if he ever went for other men at all.

He'd chosen Brendan, for some reason. Brendan wasn't stupid enough to think he was the one who had caught his prey.

His fingers moved to the buttons on his shirt and Steven spoke. It was so sudden and startling that Brendan's entire body jolted.

"Wait."

Brendan froze, watched with his breath caught in his throat as Steven pushed away from the door and approached him. He stopped in front of Brendan, just a few inches between them, and looked up at him, licked his lips. "Can I—?"

Brendan lowered his hands from his buttons and rested them by his sides, leaned in the slightest amount to smell Steven, breathe him in, just for a moment. Didn't want to freak him out; desperately wanted to get closer.

Steven's hands were trembling when he raised them, and he hesitated before making contact. Then he took the first of Brendan's buttons between his fingers and fumbled, the button slipping away from him. He went a shade of red, and Brendan wanted to smooth his hands across his warm cheeks, but he didn't move, and he didn't say anything. Just waited.

Steven got it right the second time. Fed the button through the hole and exposed a slip of Brendan's skin, let the tips of his fingers brush over the hair there for a moment before moving on to the next button. Brendan shivered, clamped his lips together.

He was growing hard already, and Steven had barely touched him. The anticipation of it was the worst form of foreplay; the most electric.

His chest felt constricted as Steven undid the second button, then the third, moving quicker now, gaining confidence now he was no longer fumbling. A second or two later, shockingly sudden, the shirt was open, and Steven was gripping either side of it, and he was looking, letting his gaze roam across chest and stomach and nipples and abs, pale skin and dark hair and everything Brendan could offer as a man, stood before him open and exposed. He let Steven look his fill, didn't even breathe lest it disturb him, wanted Steven to take it all in, wanted Steven to _want _it.

When Steven's hands moved, still shaky but steadier now, to his belt, he whispered, "Hold on," as gently as he could, so as not to startle him.

Steven looked up at him; his eyes were blown, his face a picture. He was breathtaking in his vulnerability.

"I just need to—" Brendan reached into his trouser pockets and removed his phone and keys, leaned over to place them on the cabinet. The movement brought him closer to Steven but he didn't back away, didn't panic. Brendan was not touching him, as he'd promised, but he was sharing the air clinging to Steven's skin, felt the moment he startled with the sound of keys hitting surface. He didn't need soothing, though; when Brendan stood straight again, arms back by his sides, Steven went back to his belt without question.

The way in which he opened Brendan's belt and unbuttoned his trousers was carefully orchestrated: he was not touching Brendan's dick, not even a hint of it, but the proximity of Steven's hand to him had Brendan clenching his teeth and fighting the urge to shift his hips up, brush against him, the lightest of relief.

Steven must know he was hard; he was looking down at his own movements, directly over the line of Brendan's dick. There was no mistaking it, and the stain of red rushing up Steven's neck said he was aware, and he knew what he was doing.

In a past life, in the life he led before he ended up this way, Steven had been a tease. Brendan was sure of it, and the thought of it sent a rush of hot blood to his groin. One day, he would experience it in all its glory, whatever it took.

Steven stepped back then, just a foot or so, and Brendan pointedly did not look down to see what effect this was having on him. He knew it did, could see it in the flush of his skin and the darkness of his eyes and the marks on his bottom lip where he'd been biting it. But he didn't want to see Steven hard, not yet; didn't trust himself to stay away.

So Brendan stood there, obedient and waiting, with his shirt hanging open and his trousers gaping and his cock hard and aching, desperate for something else, for Steven to explore him.

"You can take it off," Steven said, words cracking and pained. "All of it."

It was an order, clear and wanted; Brendan had nothing in him that wanted to object.

He shrugged off his shirt, let it land where it fell. Hooked his thumbs in both trousers and boxers and didn't pause to catch Steven's reaction, didn't want the distraction. Bent over and pushed everything off and stepped out of it. Stood straight and tall and naked, and looked up to see Steven frozen and his gaze hot and the tension in the air so heavy he could feel it pressing into his muscle and bone.

Steven stared, and he stared, and there was not an inch of skin his gaze didn't pass over. It was like a brand, scalding Brendan, leaving a trail of fire in its wake and Steven absorbed it all, took it all in, catalogued every bit of him.

Brendan's cock twitched, and Steven swallowed as he watched it.

"Whatever you want," Brendan said, because Steven looked as though he'd forgotten how to move.

Steven approached him, and then he moved around him, and Brendan balled his hands into fists as he felt Steven's breath on the back of his neck. The room was too hot, stifling; his palms were sweating and his face felt flushed and he just needed Steven to do something, anything.

A hand, tentative and trembling, pressed against the back of his shoulder. Brendan tensed his whole body to avoid jolting at the contact, grit his teeth as the hand moved across his shoulder blades and down, trailing the line of his spine, just the fingertips now, pinpoints of electricity creating a path all the way down to the small of his back and lower, a gentle tease where his spine curved into the crack of his arse. Then the hand left him, and there were lips now, pressed unmoving against the back of his neck; Brendan tilted his head forward, gave Steven a bigger canvass, held his breath as the lips moved down and then a tongue, tasting and trailing, the burning line of his spine and farther down, Steven's hands on his hips now for balance as he got to his knees and kissed him lower, lower, until he rested his forehead against the small of Brendan's back and stopped, pausing.

He sounded as if he was crying, but Brendan knew he wasn't. He was overwhelmed, breathing too much and feeling too much and this was the first body he'd seen and touched in so long, and he needed a minute, so Brendan gave it to him.

Steven was relearning intimacy moment by moment. The weight of the responsibility Brendan felt, the need to get this right, was almost crushing.

Steven didn't let him get lost in distraction for long, though. He got up suddenly, and he said, "Can you get on the bed?" and Brendan did as he was asked, because he wanted to do anything Steven needed, be anything he needed, if it meant Steven would keep touching him, treating him and his body like a map of pleasure.

He lay back on the bed, head on a pillow, and gazed across at Steven stood at the foot of the bed. His fingers were twitching as stared at the length of Brendan's body before him, his lips parted and eyes glazed. "I'm not getting undressed," he muttered, and when Brendan responded with, "I didn't ask you to," Steven took it as his own personal permission, something he apparently needed to take this to the next level, and climbed onto the bed.

He settled beside Brendan's hip for a moment, sat on his knees, before he seemed to steel himself and shifted over until he straddled Brendan's thighs. Not high enough to give any contact to Brendan's groin, but close enough that Brendan could feel the heat of it, the possibility that Steven might move at some point and press their dicks together. The idea made his dick twitch again, the slightest hint of precome emerging in the slit; he didn't know if Steven saw it, but he was looking, and his hips rolled against Brendan's thighs ever so minutely, as though reacting with primal instinct. His body seeking to fuck. Somewhere deep within Steven was a sexual animal trapped in its cage. Brendan would make it his mission to release it, set it free, take everything he wanted to give.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," Steven whispered. He was not touching Brendan anywhere now, other than the soft weight of his arse against Brendan's thighs, but there was a new confidence about him, a strength, the knowledge that he could push, and he could take, and nothing bad was going to happen.

He trusted Brendan. It was equal parts heady and terrifying.

"You're not doing anything yet," Brendan said, attempted to tease.

Steven smiled at him. "I'm sat on top of a naked man. That's…huge."

Brendan didn't want to make the obvious joke, fought it with all his worth, but he was a weak man who loved a cheap laugh so he quirked his eyebrows at his own dick and murmured, "Thank you."

It startled a laugh out of Steven, a carefree sound, relaxed and happy. It set alight a warm glow within Brendan. It was a novel feeling.

Steven sobered soon after, his face smoothing out and his eyes darkening once again. Brendan's dick had wilted slightly during the interlude, but the look Steven wore now as he let his gaze roam over his body again had it hardening once more.

"Close your eyes," Steven whispered. "Please."

Brendan did as he was told, and braced himself to feel. He didn't have to wait long.

The first touch came on his chest, just above his right nipple, lips pressed against skin and hair and then dragging over to the other side, tongue lapping at sweat and heat. Steven made a small noise, and then breathed hard against him, before shifting down and catching the edge of Brendan's nipple with his teeth, unsure and nervous, the lightest of touches. Brendan arched his back into it, couldn't help himself, clenched his teeth together and prayed, silently in his head, for Steven to find that confidence again, enough to bite down, hard and sharp. It wasn't hard, but it was the grip of teeth around his nipple, and then the smoothing swipe of tongue.

Steven knew what he was doing; he had it in him.

He shifted farther to the right and the tip of his nose dipped into Brendan's armpit. Brendan understood, lifted his arm and gripped the headboard behind him, squeezed it as Steven lowered and breathed him in, the scent of man, whimpered against him.

He licked and nipped over Brendan's ribs then, one by one, then lower still to his abs, moulded his tongue over the ridges and made Brendan burn with it, muscles twitching beneath Steven's mouth and his jaw still clenched to keep quiet.

Then up, through the centre of his chest to the hollow of his throat, lapped at the skin there and over his Adam's apple and then kissed him, tongue searching and wet.

And then Steven shifted forward, just his hips, pressed his groin to Brendan's naked dick and Brendan yanked on the headboard above him, groaned into Steven's mouth, used every ounce of strength he had not to rub up against him.

Steven rocked against him once, twice, and then tore away from the kiss, sat up straight with a sound of frustration clawing out of his throat.

"Touch yourself," Brendan said urgently, opening his eyes, because he understood, could _feel_ it: Steven's desperate need for pleasure warring with his inability to accept intimacy. He was turned on, probably more than was healthy considering he was touching another man for the first time in so long, a once-again virgin in so many ways.

He needed relief, to break that barrier, but Brendan couldn't touch him, couldn't give it to him. He had to do it himself.

Steven shook his head, face screwing up as his hips rocked against nothing now, his expression begging for something. "I can't."

"You can," Brendan said, words rushed, hands clenched around the headboard and back arched tight like a bow, his own desperation clawing at him. "You can. C'mon. It's just me."

Steven looked at him, pain and desire sparking in his eyes. "Close your eyes," he said again, and Brendan did, anything he needed.

As soon as he closed them he heard the rustle of material and he was good for one second, two, before his eyes peeled open again because he had to see, had to witness what Steven was doing to himself, doing in his stead.

Steven had his trousers and boxers tucked under his balls, his hard dick out and leaking. He spat into the palm of his hand, unaware Brendan was watching, and wrapped the hand around himself with a groan.

"That's it," Brendan whispered, because he was an idiot, and Steven's eyes shot up to him but he didn't panic, didn't shut down, didn't hide himself. He kept eye contact, and he stroked over his dick, and his lips parted and he panted and Brendan said, "Faster, c'mon," and Steven did, quickened his movements and stroked his cock directly over where Brendan's own dick was straining to meet it.

"Good boy," Brendan murmured, watching him, hooked on the sight of it. Steven was reaching orgasm quickly; Brendan could see it, the sweat on his skin and the darkening of his cock and the precome leaking in thick spurts, the tightening of his balls. Brendan didn't blame him, didn't like to think how long it had been for him, wanted to see him let go and release more than he'd ever wanted anything.

"Harder, fuck your hand," he said, noticing how Steven had started rolling his hips, pressing in to the strokes. "Does it feel good?"

Steven nodded, past the point of words, eyes getting heavy and bottom lip caught in his teeth.

"I'm gonna get my mouth on you one day," Brendan continued, let the sounds of Steven's whimpers and moans wash over him. "Suck you down and swallow you dry. Need it. Need to taste you."

"Please—" spilled from Steven's lips, but Brendan knew he didn't mean it, not right now; just lost in sensation, in the idea of it.

"Let you fuck my mouth, Steven." He gripped the headboard tighter, almost pulled it away from the bed, jerked his hips accidentally so that the very tip of his dick brushed against the underside of Steven's, made Steven swear and moan and push into his own hand, fucking his fist, the muscles in his hips and thighs rippling.

"Come on my dick," Brendan urged, desperate for it, breathless and heart racing, pounding against his ribs. "Please. Come all over me."

Steven's breath caught, and his whole body froze, and then he tipped forward, his spare hand catching his weight on the bed, his other jerking his dick so rapidly it was almost a blur to Brendan's eyes; and then he was coming, spunking all over the length of Brendan's dick, painting him and coating him, hot and wet, his hips jolting and his chest heaving and Brendan groaned deep in his chest, the threat of orgasm washing over him until he gathered enough control to hold it off. Watched Steven come down from his high and settle back on Brendan's thighs, but he was still hard, and he was still pulling on his dick, and he was still panting, an edge of desperation in the sounds he was making.

"Are you still—"

"I don't know," Steven said, his voice pained, his hand starting to quicken on his dick again. "I can't—"

He looked so desperate, close to agony, nowhere satisfied, and Brendan searched for what he could do, how he could help, any fucking option he had right now to give Steven what he needed. "Finger yourself," he said, voice like broken glass in his throat. "Can you do that? Fuck your own fingers?"

Steven sucked in a harsh breath, gripped his dick so hard his knuckles had whitened. "You do it," he said, and it was like the world fell away around Brendan.

His ears were ringing, and his chest was straining, and his orgasm was threatening a return but he had to hold it off, keep it together. "What?"

"You… Just that," Steven said, panted, face slick with sweat and eyes blown to hell. He looked as though he was barely aware of anything right now. "Nothing else. Just touch me there."

Brendan didn't hesitate, wasn't a fucking idiot; sucked his fingers into his mouth and got them wet, looked at Steven for confirmation. Steven lifted up a little to give Brendan space, an invitation, to slip his hand between the gap his trousers left, between his thighs and up, damp fingers slipping between his arse cheeks and searching. Steven's balls were a heavy weight on Brendan's forearm now, a silky slide of skin against skin as Steven rocked into his own fist and waited, breath held, for the moment Brendan's fingertip made contact with his hole.

Brendan pushed against him with one finger and held there, waiting, watching Steven's face. He looked as though he was feeling all sensations at once, like he couldn't process what he was feeling, like he'd forgotten what it felt like to be touched there and it overwhelmed him now, nothing more than the pad of Brendan's finger against muscle, enough to make him squeeze his eyes shut and tip his head back and whimper, quietly, through slack lips.

Brendan swallowed and gritted his teeth, fighting off his own build-up of pleasure, because this was about Steven, about Steven letting him in, and he didn't want to fuck this up.

He rubbed his finger back and forth across the muscle for a few moments, felt it loosen beneath his touch, twitch and relax, searching for pressure. He was fascinated by Steven's face, didn't want to look away, felt Steven slow his own movements as he gave in to what Brendan was making him feel, the promise of what this finger would do to him next.

Brendan pushed the very tip inside, and Steven's entire body shuddered. It was one of the most stunning things Brendan had ever seen; so long Steven had gone without being touched, and now he was overcome with it, his body flooding with endorphins, not knowing how to hide what he was feeling, open and exposed to Brendan's viewing pleasure. His neck was flushed, his cheeks were flushed, and his eyes were open now but glazed over, and Brendan hadn't even _started_.

"Do you want me to—"

Steven bit his lip and nodded, his hand squeezing hard on the base of his cock, breath held and body deathly still as Brendan pushed all the way in one single, slow movement. Steven gasped, back arching like a bow, a spurt of precome emerging from the tip of his dick despite how tightly Steven was squeezing it. A breath punched out of Brendan, the heat and tightness of Steven clamped around his finger, his own cock threatening to embarrass him as it throbbed with the onslaught of pleasure, pleasure he was getting from watching Steven come apart so easily, so freely. Steven's hole was pulling on his finger, twitchy with greed, trying to suck him deeper and he pushed, forced himself in until the knuckles of his other fingers were bruising against the skin of his arse cheeks, until he could feel the swell of Steven's prostate—pressed against it, rubbed as best he could, watched in mindless fascination as Steven's mouth fell open and his eyes rolled back in his head and his hips shuddered, a quick jerky movement that had him fucking back onto Brendan's finger.

Brendan added a second finger, and as Steven fucked back on them, bouncing up and down like a whore and yanking on his dick like he wanted to hurt, Brendan came, completely untouched, arched his back and shoved his fingers in deeper and shot spunk all over his own stomach, teeth clenched and groan low.

The sight of it seemed to give Steven what he wanted. He grinded down on Brendan's fingers, pulled on his dick, threw his head back and came for a second time, hot and quick across Brendan's skin and his own fist.

It was one of the most erotic experiences of Brendan's whole fucking life, and all he'd done was provided something for Steven to fuck himself with.

::: :::

They lay facing each other sometime later, Steven still fully dressed and Brendan naked. They'd not said much, just came down from their high together and got comfortable in the bed. Steven seemed lost for words, and Brendan didn't want to press him. He figured Steven had a lot to process right now.

Although at this moment, he didn't look as though he was processing anything. His eyes were drifting shut, his face smooth and relaxed, and Brendan watched him silently and reverently until his eyes closed completely and he gave himself to sleep.

Then the front door slammed shut, and Steven's eyes shot open in alarm.

"It's just Declan," Brendan whispered to him. "Go back to sleep."

"Need to go home," Steven mumbled.

"No you don't." Brendan brushed over Steven's hair, watched his eyes slip shut again. "You can sleep here. You're safe."

A few moments later, someone knocked gently at the front door. Brendan sighed and slipped out of bed, careful to not wake Steven. Exhaustion and satisfaction had dragged him into a quick, deep sleep. Brendan reckoned he could take some of the credit for it, and he smirked to himself as he pulled on some boxers and headed out of the room.

"I'll get it," he muttered to Declan, who had poked his head out of his own bedroom to investigate. "It's just Vinnie."

Declan rolled his eyes and vanished.

As soon as Brendan let Vinnie inside, he grabbed his arms and pushed up his sleeves, searching for fresh track marks.

"There's nothing there!" Vinnie protested, yanking his arms away, angry and offended.

"Keep your voice down," Brendan hissed at him. "I've got company and he's trying to sleep."

Vinnie's eyes narrowed, and his gaze crossed to the couch, which was still lumpy and rumpled from his and Steven's time on it. "Did you have sex on the couch?"

"Yes," said Brendan.

"Really?" Vinnie's face screwed up.

"No. Go to sleep." Brendan walked away from him. "I'll see you in the morning."

He got back into the bed to find Steven had shifted position in his sleep. His T-shirt had ridden up, exposing a sliver of skin at the small of his back. Only it wasn't skin; it was an angry canvass of red and purple and faded silver, crisscrossed in places and jagged shapes in others.

With a hand that trembled with the slow movement, Brendan reached out and carefully pushed up the material of the T-shirt, revealing inch by inch more red, more purple, more long slices of silver. Brendan could see no skin untouched; every scar overlapped another scar, every mark joined by more pain. There was no smooth flesh. Only this mess of ruin. He pushed the T-shirt up farther now, morbidly fascinated, kept a close eye on Steven's face as he rucked the material up around the nape of his neck, exposing the breadth of his shoulders, the multitude of scars. There were hundreds of them, so many they almost became one, multi-coloured and vibrant. Some of them ran into the skin, creating dents and valleys, as if he'd lost flesh there, had it carved away; others were raised, the texture visibly rough and dry, a barrier between this agony and the skin beneath. There was not an inch of skin unmarred and Brendan stared at it for so long he lost time. It was all concentrated on his back; he could see by the curve of his hip and around his ribs that his front was smooth and clear. His arms were unmarked. Only his back and shoulders had borne this torture and Brendan's mind went into overdrive, a thousand images punching into his head about what could have happened, how Steven ended up this way.

He couldn't work out what he was feeling, what the dark, heavy emotion churning in his gut meant. Neither did he know how to react.

All he could do was tuck the T-shirt back down and lie beside him and stay close, helpless to react until Steven chose to let him in. His own skin itched with the need to act, to do something; but there was something else inside him compelling him to shift closer to Steven, curl his hand around his hip, look into his face and watch him sleep.

If someone was responsible for this, if this ruin had been at the hands of another, then that person had better pray he was already dead.

::: :::

Ste woke up at some undefined time to a silent, dark apartment, and a dry-throated thirst that had him swallowing painfully.

He was lying on his front, arms tucked beneath his head. Directly in front of him, eyes shut and lips parted, was Brendan; he looked fast asleep, but he didn't look restful. His brow was furrowed, lines creasing the corners of his eyes. Dreaming perhaps, something unpleasant. Ste would have liked to brush his fingers over his skin, smooth out those lines, but his thirst needed quenching before it gave him a headache, so with a sigh, he heaved himself out of bed, careful not to wake the sleeping man beside him.

He could hardly believe he was sharing a bed with another man in the first place. That he was coping well enough to pass as normal. He rolled his shoulders as he left the bedroom, the niggling burn starting to spread across his back. He would need a pill in the morning, and he didn't have them with him, so he'd have to make an excuse to leave early. But right now he didn't want to think about leaving. He could deal with the mild tension across his skin for now, content to lie beside Brendan and sleep a few more hours with another person, this one person in particular.

The apartment was almost eerily silent, considering there were four grown men in it. He expected to hear snores or grunts or something, but everyone slept soundly and silently, making him tiptoe down the hall towards the living room. Vinnie was not on the couch, and soft light spilled out from beneath the kitchen door.

He entered the kitchen quietly, not wanting to startle Vinnie, and found him in the corner of the room sipping from a glass of water. He was wearing only boxers, and his thin frame made Ste want to frown but he didn't, just smiled and crept across to the sink.

"Hiya," he murmured, voice quiet, not wanting to break the spell of tranquillity blanketing the apartment.

Vinnie nodded at him but said nothing, took another sip of his water. There were dark shadows beneath his eyes, tension sitting at the corners of his mouth.

"Can't sleep?" Ste asked as he filled a glass with water from the tap. The pipes clanked obtrusively and he winced, shut the tap off before the glass was half full. "I'm dead thirsty, me." He downed the drink in one go then gasped in satisfaction, swiped the back of his hand across his mouth. When he finished, he noticed Vinnie eyeing him with a calculated glint. "What?"

Vinnie huffed a laugh through his nose and shook his head. He couldn't have sounded less amused. "I know that face."

Ste blinked. "What?"

"The face of someone who's just been well-fucked by Brendan Brady. I know that face," he repeated, then paused, lips curling into an unpleasant smile. "I've worn that face."

Ste's stomach dropped, and he lowered the glass onto the draining board, using careful, precise movements to give himself thinking time. It didn't matter that Vinnie had misread him, because he _hadn't_ just been fucked by Brendan, not exactly; what mattered was that Vinnie apparently had, at some point.

He licked his lips to compose himself and looked across at Vinnie. "You and Brendan…?"

Vinnie gave a slow nod. "Yeah. We were…together, I suppose. Didn't he say?" He didn't sound boastful or gloating, but there was a hint of edge in his voice, a hardness that left Ste cold.

"Recently?"

"No," said Vinnie, and he sounded bitter now. "A while ago, before he moved here."

"Was it serious?" He tried to keep his tone neutral, breezy even, like it didn't really matter to him.

Vinnie took a while to answer, staring Ste straight in the eye. Ste could see his mind working, turning over details and memories, a history Ste had no idea existed. "I was in love with him." There was a hint of confrontation in the way he said it, daring Ste to have a problem. When Ste still hadn't figured out a way to react to that information, he added, "I am. In love with him."

Ste's ears were ringing, and his chest was tightening, and he was standing in a kitchen with a man in love with the guy whose bed he was sharing. Brendan was living with a man who loved him, who had a history with him, who had spent nights full of intimacy with him.

A man who could be touched, who could let himself go, who could make love like a normal person in a normal relationship, no issues or boundaries.

"Oh," he said, because no other words would make their way to his lips.

Vinnie shrugged again, no big deal, like he hadn't just ripped away the pretence that Ste was doing _fine_ with Brendan. Brendan, who was used to men like Vinnie, who had no doubt opened himself up to anything Brendan wanted to do to him.

"He was different back then though," Vinnie continued, oblivious to Ste's inner turmoil, or perhaps delightfully aware of it. "Now he's…easier."

Ste swallowed past the constriction in his throat. "Easier?" His voice was strained. He could no longer act as though this wasn't bothering him, and Vinnie had to know, yet he continued.

"Yeah. Like he's ready now, you know? To be in a proper relationship."

Ste knew Vinnie wasn't talking about him. A Brendan and Ste relationship. Vinnie only had eyes for his own endgame. _Brendan and Vinnie._

"Right." He'd run out of tolerance for this little game Vinnie was playing, had no desire to stand here and listen to Vinnie's plans for the bright, shining future he envisioned with the man Ste had just started to let in, get close to him, break down his barriers. He'd imagined a time when Brendan was inside him, so close that nothing separated them, a fantasy that hadn't seemed so impossible now, within reach and clear and something he _wanted_, something for which he would make the effort, work towards getting to that point.

But now there was a man here who loved Brendan, who lived with him, who could give him everything _now_.

Ste was nothing compared to that.

"I have to go." He avoided Vinnie's eyes, didn't want to see the triumph there, the silent celebration that his little plan had worked. "Uh…just tell Brendan…tell him I had to leave."

He exited the kitchen quickly, no longer caring if he made noise. Found his jacket on a chair and his shoes beside the door and slipped everything on quicker than should have been possible. He paused for half a second to look in the direction of the bedrooms, of Brendan, then slipped out and away into the night.


	8. Chapter 8

It took Ste the time to go downstairs and reach the main door of the building for him to decide that Vinnie could go fuck himself.

It wasn't his fault Vinnie apparently had these feelings, and he couldn't blame Brendan for them either. And whatever history Vinnie and Brendan shared, whatever feelings Vinnie still carried, Ste was the one sharing Brendan's bed, the one who had Brendan's interest. He would be an idiot to punish himself and Brendan for the sake of Vinnie, for something Brendan probably wasn't even aware of—and if he was, he clearly wasn't bothered by it. He had Ste in his bed and Vinnie on the couch in another room and that said enough to Ste, enough to make him turn around and head back up the stairs.

Just for once, Ste was going to do what felt good to him, and fuck all the bullshit.

He reached the top of the stairs just in time to find Brendan barging out of the apartment like it was on fire. He had on a pair of loose tracksuit bottoms, a set of keys in his hand, and a face of thunder. "Steven," he said, relief in his voice. "Thought you'd left. I heard the front door go."

"Yeah." Ste smiled at him. "I was just coming back."

Brendan searched Ste's eyes, and Ste knew he'd figured it out—that Ste _had_ been leaving, but he'd changed his mind, and he was here now. "Jesus," said Brendan. "C'mon." He grabbed Ste's wrist and pulled him back inside, then pulled him straight through the living room towards the bedroom. Vinnie was sat on the couch, a blanket over his legs and the remote in hand. His face was a picture as he watched Brendan tug Ste past him; Ste looked at him but didn't say anything, felt like smirking but decided against it.

They made it back to the bedroom and Brendan released his wrist, closed the door, dropped the keys back on the cabinet. Then he got his hands on each side of Ste's face and used his hold there to push Ste back towards the bed. "Gotta stop walking away from me," he said, thumbing Ste's mouth open, then he kissed him wide-mouthed and obscene, catching his own thumb before he'd had chance to remove it. His tongue was forceful, pushing in and licking him open, and Ste could do nothing but grab on to the bare skin of Brendan's hips and take it, an exquisite assault for daring to leave again.

"You understand?" Brendan asked, breaking the kiss. "It's becoming a problem." He started kissing and licking his way down Ste's neck, catching his teeth around the muscle that met his shoulder. Ste gasped and held on tighter, pushed closer into Brendan's body, tilted his head to the side to give Brendan more space and was rewarded with a sucking, bruising kiss against his pulse.

It was like Brendan was starving for him, stood in the middle of this room in the darkness; couldn't handle that Ste had nearly walked away again and he was taking everything he could now, making up for it, the potential of lost time.

"I'm sorry," Ste whispered, eyes rolling back as Brendan curled his tongue around his earlobe, tugged it between his teeth. "It's just—Vinnie—"

"Forget Vinnie." Brendan lifted his head, looked Ste in the eye. "He's irrelevant." He said it with such meaning that Ste wondered if he was aware of it after all.

Ste wanted to believe him, decided he would. Brendan couldn't be more open with how he wanted Ste, compared to the indifference he gave Vinnie. It spoke volumes, and Ste needed to learn how to trust. To believe that things were working out for him, finally. He smiled, gave a small nod.

Brendan pulled him in, wrapped his arms around Ste's back ever so gently. Ste was expecting Brendan's lips on his neck or his hands on his arse or something; it took him a few moments to realise that this was just a hug. Brendan was hugging him. It was almost extraordinary in its simplicity and Ste's chest grew tight as he put his arms around Brendan in return.

There was a feeling building in Ste, something warm and powerful, and he tightened his hold on Brendan as he felt that feeling swell and push up into his chest, made his heart skip a beat. Brendan responded by pushing his face into Ste's neck, breathed him in, hand smoothing up Ste's back, caressing and gentle, giving Ste no discomfort or pain against his scars. Brendan pulled away enough to kiss him then, soft and sweet, then rested their foreheads together and smiled.

"You wanna get some sleep?"

Ste said, "Yeah," in a muted tone. He didn't know what time it was, but he knew it was late, and he had a hectic weekend with his kids starting tomorrow. He needed energy and his wits about him, and so he needed rest.

They broke apart, and Ste removed his shoes and jacket while Brendan straightened out the bedding. He slipped off his tracksuit bottoms then, unashamedly naked beneath, and Ste stared long enough for Brendan to notice. He gave a filthy smirk and lifted an eyebrow and Ste burned red before they both laughed, quiet and relaxed.

"Come on, you perv," Brendan said, slipping beneath the quilt. He didn't question Ste getting into bed fully clothed again, didn't suggest he take something off, and Ste was grateful for it. He'd yet to figure out a way to explain why he couldn't go topless in front of him, not without explaining the horror of his back. And he had no intention of telling Brendan about that, didn't want to see that look of disgust on his face.

Ste settled in beside him, a good few inches separating them. He linked his fingers behind his head and stared up at the ceiling.

"You gonna be here when I wake up?" Brendan asked.

Ste turned his head to look at him. "Yeah."

"Good," said Brendan, then he rolled over, put his back to Ste and tugged the quilt up over his shoulder.

Ste smiled at the back of him, snuggled further into the bed. He knew what Brendan was doing—trying to make this normal, low pressure, unthreatening—and he appreciated it.

He was asleep within moments.

::: :::

Brendan drifted back to consciousness in stages. He was first aware of the heat pressing against his chest, a wall of it from shoulder to groin, and his knees tucked into another pocket of warmth. He had his arm slung over the body tucked into him, and without opening his eyes, he lifted his arm to stroke his hand down Steven's side to his hip, held on a little. Then he blinked his eyes open, waiting to focus, had the view of the back of Steven's head directly in front of his face.

He was in bed with Steven, and they were spooning. Somehow they'd gravitated towards one another in the night. Steven was still asleep, and the proximity of their bodies had caused his T-shirt to pull down a few centimetres from his neck. A small sliver of his scars was visible, just peeking out of the material around the top knobs of his spine, and Brendan dipped his head an inch or so to press his mouth against the pain there, felt the ridges of the scars against his lips. They were hot to his touch, and he wondered if that meant they were starting to hurt. He imagined the pain of such destruction never completely went away, that Steven must have found some way of managing it. The thought of it made him tuck his arm back around Steven's torso and pull him in tighter against his chest, press his forehead against the back of Steven's head.

He felt Steven awaken, the way his body stirred gently and his breathing lost that deep relaxation. He didn't move away, though. Laid there in silence with Brendan pressed all up against him and around him.

Brendan was loath to disturb him, but it was getting late and they both had plans for the day. He murmured, "Time to get up," into the skin of Steven's neck and Steven's response was to bury his head further into the pillow and groan, a deep rumble that trembled through Brendan's own chest. Brendan chuckled and loosened his hold on him, gave his hip a little shake. "C'mon, while the bathroom's free." He rolled onto his back and stretched, said through a yawn, "There's a spare toothbrush in the cabinet."

"No," said Steven, like a petulant toddler, and when Brendan lifted up on one elbow to look over him, he found his eyes were still resolutely shut. "Five more minutes."

Brendan sighed in amusement. "Five more seconds," he said, and slumped back down beside him. Another few minutes wouldn't hurt.

His bedroom door creaked open then, and Brendan did a quick stock of his own nakedness and how much of it was on display. Declan's head poked around the door, eyes searching through the shadows for his dad's sleeping form.

"Dad," he whispered.

"What?"

Steven had stiffened beside him, slunk further beneath the quilt as though trying to make himself invisible.

"I'm heading off."

"Okay…"

"I need money," said Declan. Of course he did.

"There's a few quid in the jar in the kitchen." The other option was his wallet on the cabinet beside the wardrobe, but that would mean Declan had to come inside the room, and he didn't think Steven could cope with the embarrassment.

"All right, thanks. See you later." He pulled the door shut, only to open it again immediately. "And tell your fella there I can see him," he added, before disappearing.

"Oh my god," Steven said, emerging from beneath the quilt with pink cheeks and his hair sticking up in all conceivable directions. "It's _way_ too soon for your kid to be knowing about me."

Brendan smiled over at him in amusement. "It's fine, don't worry about it."

"I bet he thinks I'm some rentboy or summat," Steven said with a groan, scrubbing his hands over his face.

"Well firstly," Brendan said, his tone dry, "thanks for that." Steven grimaced when he realised what he'd just implied, and Brendan smirked to show he wasn't really offended. "And secondly—" He heaved himself up to lean back against the headboard, made sure the quilt kept his modesty intact. "—he knows about you. This won't be a surprise to him."

Steven gazed up at him for a few seconds. When he spoke, his tone was soft. "He knows about me?"

"Yeah," Brendan said simply, and let Steven's smile warm him for a moment. "Are we getting up?"

"Do we have to?"

"Yes."

He shifted his weight in the bed, and Steven shot up a hand. "Don't kiss me," he said.

Brendan furrowed his brow. "Wasn't going to."

"Good." Steven settled again, looking appeased. "Nowt worse than morning breath."

"Is that so?" He felt like a giddy teenager, mischievous and playful, so when Steven said, "Yeah, it's gross," like that was the end of the matter, Brendan pounced on him. Got his lips on him and pressed his tongue inside and laughed as Steven squealed into his mouth and tried to shove him away. It was disgusting and it was stale and it was too warm, but when Steven gave up and melted into it, he decided he didn't much care.

::: :::

There was unexplained tension in the kitchen this morning. Steven stood at one end sipping from a mug of coffee and Vinnie was at the other, eating a bowl of cereal where he stood. Brendan was in the middle, picking at a few grapes, feeling as though he was being smothered from each side by identical walls of irritation.

"Did I miss something?" he asked the room at large.

"No," said Vinnie, as Steven said, "What do you mean?"

Brendan sighed. "Come on, children. Let's play nice."

"Dunno what you're on about," Steven muttered into his cup, grumpy as hell. "Everything's fine."

Vinnie snorted, turned to put his bowl in the sink.

"I weren't talking to you," Steven shot at his back, scowling.

Brendan looked from one to the other before tutting. "Vinnie, get out."

Vinnie's eyes widened at him. "What?"

"Get out. Shut the door behind you."

"I'm not even the one being a little bitch," Vinnie huffed, but he did as he was told, shooting daggers in Steven's direction before shutting the door.

Brendan rounded on Steven. "What, did I wake up in a playground this morning? What's going on?"

"Ask him."

"I'm asking you."

Steven sighed, rubbed two fingers against his temple. "It's nothing."

Frowning, Brendan approached him, took the mug from his hand and placed it on the counter. "Come on," he said, resting his hands on Steven's hips and ducking down a little to look him in the eye. "Tell me."

Steven looked undecided, brow furrowed and teeth gnawing at his bottom lip. When Brendan gave his hips a squeeze of encouragement, he sighed again and said, "Okay, fine. It's just something Vinnie said. That's all."

Dread flooded Brendan. Steven and Vinnie were never meant to interact, not without his supervision. There were too many skeletons there at risk of being exposed, parts of himself and moments in his history he never wanted Steven to know about. "When did you talk to Vinnie?" he asked, his tone careful.

"I got up last night to get a drink and he was already in here. This was before I…you know." He gave an awkward jerk of his head, eyes flicking in the general direction of where the front door would be if there weren't walls in the way.

"Before you… Is Vinnie the reason you left?" The realisation winded him. They'd just started to get somewhere and it wasn't Brendan fucking up, or Steven's issues forcing him away. It was fucking _Vinnie_. An outside force that wasn't supposed to have any kind of hand in this relationship. Or whatever the fuck they had right now.

Steven nodded, reluctant and uneasy. "He just…" He took a breath, and he looked Brendan in the eye, and when he spoke it was with strength, a bravado that left Brendan concerned. "He said something that made me think that maybe you'd be better off back with him."

Brendan swallowed. He was beginning to regret digging for the information now. None of this could mean anything good. "So you know me and Vinnie—"

"Used to be together, yeah."

"I wouldn't call it that…" But calling it what it _was_ would mean admitting that he was well-versed in the art of treating men like shit, using them for his own needs and then discarding them. "We just, uh. We spent some time together for a while. It wasn't a relationship."

Steven stared at him, his eyes unreadable. "You might wanna tell him that." He blinked then, and now his eyes held a veiled worry. "It meant a lot to him."

It was cryptic, and it was annoying, and more than anything Brendan just wanted to do whatever he could to get that look out of Steven's eyes. "Jesus, Steven. Just tell me what went on so I can deal with it."

"Nothing went on," Steven said, shaking his head. "And it's not…it's not for me to say."

Brendan frowned. "Then what was all that about me being better off with him?"

Steven gave a little shrug of dejection. "You know, all the things he could do and I…can't." He'd gone red, skin burning with embarrassment. Brendan shifted closer and bent his knees lower, forcing Steven to look him in the eye.

He got it. And he was feeling something that might be hurt. Hurt for Steven.

"Hey, come on," he said, trying to smile, to lighten the mood. "If sex was all I cared about, I would've given up on you ages ago." Then he immediately winced at how terrible that sounded. He meant what he said, but he hadn't meant for it to come out so brutally insensitive.

Steven huffed out a laugh that sounded entirely humourless. "Right, let's just go on pretending that there isn't this massive issue." He tried to push Brendan away then, hands on his chest, but Brendan wasn't budging. He gripped Steven's wrists and lowered them.

"You did fine last night."

Steven flushed again, although Brendan hoped it was more from memory than embarrassment this time.

"Shut up," he mumbled, a smile trying to force its way onto his lips.

"It's true." Brendan crowded in closer, used his grip on Steven's wrists to pull him close, chests bumping, sharing air. Steven's eyes had softened, darkened, and Brendan could feel the uncomfortable tension beginning to filter away. "In fact," he crooned, taking the risk of pressing his groin against Steven's. He wasn't hard, but he wanted Steven to know it was there, if he wanted it. "You did better than fine."

"I didn't even—"

"Steven." Brendan paused, wanted to find the right words to make Steven understand. When none came, he settled on, "It was unbelievable." It didn't even come close to describing how it had made him feel.

But Steven was smiling now, tentative but pure. Brendan shot him a grin and murmured, "C'mere," leaned in for a kiss before Steven could even think of objecting.

The kiss started chaste and soft, a hint of coffee mingled with toothpaste, the press of lips and the slick caress of tongue. But then Steven tilted his head, pushed up on his toes for a better angle, and the kiss deepened, heated, Steven pressing into his mouth as if he wanted to steal his air, as though he hadn't received enough satisfaction the night before.

Brendan felt his cock stir, and his skin tingle, and he pushed forward so that Steven had no choice but to lean back, Brendan's arm around his waist holding him still, anchoring him. Steven tolerated it for a few moments, Brendan dominating the kiss, released a whimper and grabbed fistfuls of Brendan's shirt, tugged on it. Then he almost stumbled in his haste to get fully upright, hands going to each side of Brendan's neck, pushing, forcefully, and Brendan found himself staggering backwards, their mouths attached and groans increasing, until his back met a counter of his own, Steven all over him, clawing at him, almost trying to climb him in his desperation.

A press of his groin revealed that Steven was hard, painfully so, and Brendan wanted to do something about it. He lowered his hand from the small of Steven's back, ate at his mouth as he dipped his fingers beneath the waistband of Steven's tracksuit bottoms. When Steven did nothing more than make a constricted noise in his throat and fist his hand in Brendan's hair, Brendan pushed his hand right under trousers and boxers and cupped a palm over one smooth arse cheek, fingers digging in, and lifted a little so that Steven rose on his toes and broke the kiss, hissing as his dick rubbed over the valley of Brendan's hip.

Brendan took the opportunity to bite at Steven's swollen bottom lip, swiped his tongue over it, released his arse cheek to move his hand across and dip in, the pad of his middle finger hard against Steven's hole.

Steven sucked in a breath and held it, and Brendan paused. Then he pressed his cheek against Steven's, felt the burning heat of his skin, and breathed into his ear, "Can I—"

"Vinnie…" Steven sounded wrecked already, voice scratchy with need.

"He won't come in here," Brendan said, corner of his lips mouthing at Steven's jaw. When Steven offered no more by way of objection, Brendan removed his hand from Steven's arse and leaned back enough for Steven to watch him sucking on his fingers. Steven's eyes were heavy-lidded and blown, his mouth stained red and swollen, his chest hitching with each breath and Jesus, he was beautiful.

Brendan grabbed his head with one hand and pulled him into a vicious kiss; his other hand, fingers slick with saliva, delved back inside Steven's boxers, straight to his hole and rubbing, aggressive and rapid, over the muscle, feeling it loosen beneath his touch, twitch, trying to pull him in. Steven whimpered into the kiss and spread his legs wider, the hard line of his dick snug against Brendan's hip, Brendan's own dick throbbing, desperate for attention.

But it wasn't enough for Brendan; he wanted to push harder this time. So he tipped his forehead against Steven's, their lips less than an inch apart, and muttered, "I wanna get my tongue in there. Need to taste you." He punctuated his statement by pushing the very tip of his finger inside and back out, circled the muscle.

Steven let out the most beautiful of sounds, high and desperate, almost like a whine. And when he nodded, sweat-damp forehead moving against Brendan's, Brendan said, "Yeah?" in a tone full of disbelief and hope.

"Yeah," Steven said, the word cracking, hand trembling as he smoothed it over the back of Brendan's head, as though the calming motion would soothe himself.

Brendan didn't want to waste time, didn't want to give Steven a chance to overthink. Just wanted Steven to _feel_, to experience pleasure, to understand that it was a good thing, that Brendan's only goal was to make him feel good.

"Here," he said, stepping out of their hold and to the side. He gave Steven a little push, put some pressure on his shoulders to make him bend over the counter, forearms braced on the surface for support, back curving down in an arch, arse pointed up in invitation.

The sight of it made Brendan press his hand against his own dick.

Steven looked over his shoulder briefly, face and neck flushed, eyes pitch-dark. "Don't…don't push up my T-shirt." He didn't explain why, although of course Brendan knew.

"I won't." He stepped in close, smoothed his hands over Steven's hips and pressed his dick against his arse for a moment, grit his teeth at the spike of pleasure that shot up his spine. Then he hooked his fingers beneath the waistband of both trousers and boxers and pulled down to the tops of Steven's thighs, exposing golden skin and the slightest hint of his balls through the tiny gap his legs left.

"Gonna make this so good for you, Steven," Brendan said as he lowered to his knees, watching Steven drop his forehead onto his folded arms, as though bracing himself. "Just breathe. You'll be fine."

Face level with Steven's arse now, he parted the cheeks and observed the offering before him, his dick pulsing in the confines of his trousers. He blew on Steven's hole, watched it twitch for him, before leaning forward and swiping his tongue right over it.

Steven groaned, low and deep, and his hips jerked. "S'okay, I've got you," Brendan said in the instant before he buried his face in Steven's arse crack and attacked his hole with his tongue. Worked over it in strong, slurping licks, pressed at the muscle and circled it, moaning into it as arousal clawed at his guts, as Steven let out a choked-off cry when Brendan pushed in, the tip of his tongue, pressed through the muscle and farther, the hole trying to close around him, sucking him in.

Brendan pulled away to take a breath before diving straight back in, obscene with it now, coating Steven in spit, getting him sloppy and wet and slick, tongue thrusting in and out and over, working at the muscle, loosening him up, Steven's hips starting to move, grinding back against his face. He was trying to fuck Brendan's tongue, and he was somehow smothering an endless litany of moans, the sound muffled and low and full of overwhelming pleasure. Brendan parted his cheeks wider, got his thumbs hooked into Steven's hole and pulled gently, opened it up and pressed in with his tongue and licked him deep and hard.

Brendan ate at him, teeth and tongue and lips, wanted to _destroy_ him, make him come apart like this. Shoved a finger in beside his tongue and angled it to hit his prostate, battered against it relentlessly as his tongue slicked over him, felt Steven's cry of ecstasy hit him in the chest, shoot down to his dick. Steven was rocking back now; Brendan had offered him a finger to fuck and he was using it, pushing back onto it, hips working and arse smothering Brendan's face, grinding against his tongue.

His orgasm seemed to surprise him, wrenched out of him with a cry, hips shoving back with a sudden jolt and bones shaking with each wave of pleasure that washed over him.

But Brendan wasn't done, wasn't satisfied. He shoved in a second finger and pressed against Steven's prostate as he got to his feet behind him, placed a hand on the small of his back to hold him in place. "Again," he said to Steven's whimpering form, eyeing the sweat-slick skin of his neck. "You can go again."

"I can't," Steven said on a cry, head shaking back and forth, forehead pressed against his arms. His whole body was shaking, muscles jerking and contracting, his last orgasm still pulsing through him and Brendan wasn't done, not yet.

"You can." He shoved his fingers in deeper, then out. Back in, right over the prostate, building up a brutal, bruising rhythm, fucking Steven with his fingers like he would his cock, pounding into him and watching him come apart, fall to pieces. When the tension of his orgasm started to ease, his hole loosening, Brendan shoved in a third finger without ceremony; Steven jolted with it, cried out, one arm coming off the counter with a wild swing, knocking over cereal boxes and the coffee pot until he found the edge of the sink to grip, knuckles white as Brendan fucked into him, didn't relent, wanted to break his whole world apart.

"That's it," he said, hammering into him so hard and quick his arm burned with it. The sounds his fingers were making, the slurping, sloppy noise each time his fingers rammed home—it was obscene and filthy and Brendan would never be able to stand in this kitchen again without thinking about that time Steven splintered into a million pieces under the force of Brendan's fingers fucking into him, hammering over his prostate, the way a groan was punching out of him on each thrust now. "Come again for me, Steven," he hissed, his own dick throbbing painfully, aching with need, so close to releasing without contact. "Come on, you can do it. Good boy," he added when Steven's moans increased, when his head shot up and back; and Brendan gave him everything he had, pounded the fuck out of his hole with three fingers, battered his prostate and the walls of his arse and groaned as Steven fell apart around him, his cry rocking the walls of the kitchen.

He didn't wait for Steven to finish before yanking his fingers out and reaching for his own dick, clumsy in his desperate attempt to release it from its confines and fuck his fist. Steven's body was still jerking from the orgasm when Brendan pressed the head of his dick against his hole and stroked it rough and quick, burning to come, hissing as Steven's hole twitched rhythmically against his slit. As his orgasm approached he pulled back, yanking harshly on his dick, milked pleasure out of it and shot spunk across Steven's arse, painted his skin with it, swallowing groans and moans and baring his teeth with the onslaught of pure ecstasy.

When it was all over, when he'd spilled every last drop of come over Steven's arse, he collapsed forward on him, rested his forehead on the back of Steven's shoulder and breathed deeply. They stayed like that for a minute, breathing together, until Brendan found the energy to ask, "You okay?"

"You're destroying me," Steven whispered, sounding completely fucked-out and in awe. Brendan grinned.

They cleaned up slowly, languidly, both too loose with satisfaction to rush anything. Brendan helped Steven straighten his clothing, felt like he could blush under the power of Steven's coy smile, smoothed his fingers through Steven's hair and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. "So I'll see you next week?" he asked.

"Yeah." Steven nodded and stepped away, slipped on his jacket. "I need to get home and sort the flat out. Kids'll be here in a few hours."

"Well call me, yeah?" Brendan knew he sounded like a lovesick teenager, clingy and ridiculous, but he was too wrecked from his orgasm to care.

"Yeah." Steven smiled and came closer again, put his hands on Brendan's hips. "Thank you," he said softly, and at Brendan's frown of confusion, he added, "I know you don't understand why, but…thank you."

Brendan huffed out a laugh. "You're welcome, I guess."

They kissed a final time, and Brendan extended it, wanted to get the most out of this last one. In a minute he would have to say goodbye for a few days. At least he had a busy weekend at work ahead of him for a distraction.

But before then, he had a few questions for Vinnie. And he wouldn't be leaving without answers.

**::: :::**

**AN: I just want to say a huge thank you to everyone who's reviewed so far. There's nothing quite as motivating as a review and hearing what you guys think. Especially when I'm feeling especially down about the story – you guys know how to perk me back up and make sure I keep writing. :) A million thanks to everyone who's still reading! And I got twitter, btw. I can't keep using DS as a means to talk about writing updates and whatnot lol. And everyone keeps mentioning twitter to me so I'm biting the bullet! It is perhaps my millionth twitter account in the past few years but it's the first one I'll actually be using! You guys are the first to know about it, so let's go hang out. I'm flowerpicture2 on there. One day I might even get tumblr! Okay no, let's not go crazy here. I can only be so adventurous.**

**Thanks and ciao!**


	9. Chapter 9

Brendan closed the door on a smiling Steven—after giving him one last kiss or five—and turned. "Vinnie!" he said, grinning, arms wide, as though delighted to find Vinnie sat on his sofa. "My good friend Vinnie. How you doing?"

Vinnie scowled at him. "Surprised you can still talk after that performance in the kitchen."

"You caught that, did you? Good, good." He was still grinning as he approached the sofa, probably looking a little manic. He watched the edge of confusion flitter into Vinnie's eyes, wanted to twist it into fear. "You know how much of a showman I am."

The innuendo was deliberate, wanted Vinnie's head to flood with memories of when he'd experienced Brendan's skills in the bedroom, how easily Brendan turned him to a quivering, screaming wreck. Wanted him to remember it now, what he could never have again. What Brendan would never give him again.

"You remember that, don't you, Vinnie?" He collapsed his weight beside him on the couch, leaned in and draped his arm behind him, invaded his space and looked him directly in the face, uncomfortably so. "The things I used to do to you? Hmm?"

Vinnie's eyes flicked across to his. He swallowed. "Yeah…"

"Gave you some good nights, didn't I?" Brendan said, slapping his hand down on Vinnie's knee and making him jump. "I'd even wager that I'm the best you've ever had." Vinnie was almost trying to shrink in on himself, muscles and bones pulling in, head ducked low to avoid Brendan's direct stare. "Wouldn't you say?"

"I…"

"Gave Steven some of the best he's ever had as well, right there in that kitchen this morning."

Vinnie grimaced, tried to pull away. "I don't—"

"Hey, hey," Brendan said, tightening his grip on Vinnie's knee to keep him in place. "Don't be rude, Vinnie. I'm trying to have a conversation here."

Vinnie looked up at him, face stricken. "Brendan—"

"Steven had a pretty good time last night as well," he said, smiling. He lowered his voice, smoothed it out. "I had him falling apart in my hands. You know what that's like, don't you?"

Vinnie didn't say anything this time. Brendan's direct eye contact had finally captured him, and he stared back as if enraptured.

"Good looking man, isn't he? Steven." He tilted his head as though sharing a secret, trailed his hand a few inches up Vinnie's thigh. "That perfect skin of his, beautiful eyes…" He huffed a laugh, tried to make it sound a little embarrassed when he was anything but. "Tight, hot little body."

Brendan shifted his hand up another inch or so, watched Vinnie's breath hitch.

"Don't you think?"

"I…" Vinnie seemed incapable of engaging his brain, eyes glazed over and cheeks reddening. "I guess…"

"Yeah." Brendan nodded. "Yeah, he is." He leaned in closer, gave half a smile, spoke as though full of pride and modesty. "I'd say I'm a lucky guy." Vinnie's lips parted, and Brendan moved his hand up farther, fingers inches from the dick he knew was hard. "Be a shame if anything ruined that, wouldn't it?" he crooned, leaning in a little more.

He waited for Vinnie to nod, looking as though he had no idea what he was agreeing with, and then clamped his hand down on Vinnie's thigh. Squeezed with every ounce of strength he possessed, fingers digging so far into muscle he could feel bone. Vinnie gasped, face twisting with pain and shock, hands gripping around Brendan's wrist to try to pull him off.

When Brendan next spoke, it was with a tone full of ice, voice dripping directly into Vinnie's ear. "A little birdie tells me you've been gossiping with Steven behind my back. Sharing _details._"

"No—" Vinnie said, or tried to, head shaking manically and hands pulling fruitlessly on Brendan's wrist, the bruises he was digging in to his skin.

"No?" Brendan dredged up a bit of extra strength from somewhere and squeezed harder, watched Vinnie's mouth open wide on a silent scream. "What did you say to him?" he growled, past the point of bullshit now.

"Nothing—nothing—I swear!"

"Don't lie to me, Vinnie. He knows you and I used to fuck."

Vinnie's eyes were watering, his skin drained of all colour. "I just said—I just said we used to be together. A long time ago. That's all, I promise!"

"Hmm." Brendan thought about loosening his hold, could feel cramp starting to set in around his knuckles. Figured he could hold on another few moments. "Now why would you lie about such a thing?"

"I didn't! We did—we used to—Brendan, _please_!" He was on the verge of genuine tears, pain lighting his eyes on fire.

"You and I were never together, Vinnie. You were my little toy. My whiny, pathetic, useless toy. How is that still not clear to you?"

It was as if the hurt caused by Brendan's words overrode the pain in his leg for an instant and he looked up at Brendan as though winded, before the pressure of Brendan's hand got the better of him again and he hissed, renewed his efforts to get Brendan's hand off him.

"Let me make sure you understand this once and for all," Brendan said. He tangled his other hand in Vinnie's hair, yanked on it to tip his head back, murmured into his ear, "What goes on between me and Steven is none of your business." He tugged harder on the hair, twisted it. "And what went on between me and you is none of Steven's business."

Vinnie was nodding like a madman, anything to get this over with.

"And if I find out the two have crossed paths again—if you so much as breathe another word to Steven—I'll kill you. Am I making myself clear here?"

"Yeah—yeah—I'm sorry—please—"

"Good lad," Brendan crooned. He gave Vinnie's thigh a final squeeze, made sure his fingers dug right in, before releasing him. "There you go, no harm done," he said as Vinnie collapsed in on himself, both hands wrapping gingerly around his thigh and breath heaving through his body. Brendan patted him on the top of his head, smoothed his hair out a little. "I've always liked you, Vinnie. All you gotta do is stop fucking up. Hmm?"

"I'm sorry."

"You're fine, come on." He gave Vinnie a little shake. "I'll tell you how you can make it up to me," he said, mind working quickly, trying to think of what would irritate Vinnie the most. "This place. Bit of a mess, isn't it?"

Vinnie's expression was dumbfounded. "You want me to clean your flat?"

"Bottle of Dettol and some cloths under the sink." He gave Vinnie's back a hearty pat. "Good lad."

"You're not serious."

"Hey, look. I'll even do the hoovering," Brendan said, smiling. "I like hovering. Calms me down," he added pointedly, and with a heavy sigh, Vinnie heaved himself off the couch and headed for the Dettol, limping as he went.

::: :::

When Ste got home, the first thing he did was pick up his post from the doormat and shove it in a drawer without looking at it. The last thing he wanted was to have his pleasant mood ruined. He hadn't felt this good in such a long time—sated, content, even _happy_. He had the fresh memory of Brendan's touch on his skin, branding him all over; the image of his smile locked in his mind, those warm eyes burning with lust, looking at _him_, as if he was the most desired man in the world. Brendan wanted him. No pretences or ulterior motives. He was open with it, made sure Ste was constantly aware of it.

It could have been scary, overwhelming. It could have been too much pressure. But Brendan wasn't rushing him with sex—and in fact, he seemed pleased to be in his company regardless of what they were doing. It had been Ste who'd first initiated intimacy; Brendan went along with it, let Ste set the pace.

Ste felt in control—most importantly, in control of _himself_. In the world of Brendan, there was no one trying to tell him how to live his life, advising him on how to act, what to feel. In the world of Brendan, Ste had nothing but his own instincts to rely on.

In the world of Brendan, Ste was not fragmented parts of a broken puzzle, relying on others to hold the pieces in place. He was just Ste. And Ste, as it turned out, wasn't as weak as everyone thought.

Or _Steven_, he thought with a smile as he grabbed his tablets from the cupboard. He might be in a fantastic mood, but his back didn't care. It had started to burn, and he needed to take the edge off. The other pills, though—the ones that controlled everything he was as a person: his moods, his reactions, his thoughts—he would leave those for today. It made his stomach churn, the idea of not taking them, of getting through the day without chemicals dictating his brain.

But taking the pills meant softening the happiness he felt this morning, and he didn't want that. He wanted to keep the feeling for as long as possible.

He got into the shower—didn't relish washing Brendan off his body, but he could hardly greet his kids with another man's come dried to his skin. The memories rushed back into his head, fresh and vibrant: sitting on Brendan, riding his fingers; bent over the counter this morning, getting his hole eaten and then fucked. He felt around his hole now with one soapy finger, smoothed over the muscle and rubbed a little to capture a hint of that sensation again, what Brendan had done to him. He was a bit sore, but pleasantly so—a physical memory of Brendan's touch. It made him shiver, could barely wait for next time.

Afterwards he cleaned his flat with a renewed energy he should not have felt after being so thoroughly worked over by Brendan's attention. An energy he hadn't felt for so long it surprised him, that it was possible to still get so amped up and motivated over tasks as boring as dusting and dishes. The burst of vigour had him finished within the hour and he picked up his keys, headed to the local supermarket for his kids' favourites.

He was just debating over cereals when he felt a tap on the shoulder, and he turned to find someone who—unintentionally, he was sure—made that happiness inside him shrivel up into a ball and hide away.

She was smiling at him, her eyes warm and friendly.

"Hello."

"Gloria…hi. Uh…" He was about to ask what she was doing here, but what a bloody stupid question. This was a supermarket. She was hardly windsurfing.

"It's nice to see you again." She glanced around him, as though looking for someone. "You on your own today?"

"Yeah, just picking up a few bits for me kids." He held up a box of Shreddies in demonstration. "They're coming for a visit."

She smiled. "That's nice, love. Your daughter still into her art?"

Small talk. He knew this tactic. He had always been asked the most mindless questions just before she jabbed a needle in him, or scraped over his skin, or rubbed something burning on to him. It was how she'd come to know so much about his life and family.

He answered her though, because there was no harm in it, and there was no harm in her. She'd been good at her job, and good to him, even if she and her job represented everything he wanted to forget about his life.

"She is, yeah. Loves sending me pictures, does our Leah."

"That's good." She nodded, continued to smile, looked as though she was searching for words. Her eyes flicked over his face. "Well you're looking good," she said, then gave his shoulder a playful jab. "Practically glowing, so you are!"

He tried not to blush. If only she knew. "Uh, thanks," he mumbled, couldn't help the answering smile, nor could he help admitting: "Yeah, things have been going well lately."

"That fella you were with last I saw you," she said delicately, fishing for information. "New friend of yours?"

"He's… I'm seeing him." He didn't see any reason to lie or hide the truth. It was a _good_ thing, that he was getting himself out there, learning to live again. No one was going to tell him otherwise.

"Yeah?" Even though her smile remained, her face clouded over a little, her voice not so chirpy. "That's…that's nice."

"Look," he said, sighing. He was well used to that voice of concern, had come to resent it during some of the last appointments. "I know it's your job to worry, but it's fine. Everything's fine."

She raised her hands, submissive. "It's none of my business, love."

No, it wasn't. But that had never stopped her before. Had never stopped anyone. For so long Ste's life had been governed by people who thought they had the right to know every detail of it. And he'd been too out of it—emotionally—to be bothered.

It was amazing, how different he felt this morning. Like someone had flicked a switch and turned on the lights.

"Okay, well…" He pointed in the general direction of the checkouts, started pushing his trolley away. "I need to get going."

"Ste, listen—" She grabbed his arm, stopped him, and the look in her eyes made him swallow down a flare-up of muted panic.

"I really don't have time, Gloria, sorry."

"I just… Will you make an appointment, please? It's been so long and we really need to check up on the progress." She glanced around briefly, then lowered her voice. "How's it looking?"

"The same," he said flatly, jaw tense.

"And the pain. Is that—"

"I really don't think this is the place to talk about it."

He seriously couldn't go one day without someone reminding him of how damaged he was, outside and in. How beneath his clothes, there was nothing but horror.

"No, no, you're right." She released his arm, had the good grace to look a little guilty. "But please make an appointment, love. We were only halfway through the treatment plan."

He swallowed. The _treatment plan_. Words he'd always detested. "I don't think there's much more you can do."

"How about we leave that for the doctors to decide, eh? Are you still seeing your therapist?"

He shot her a look that was far more heated than he'd intended, and it shocked her into taking a step back.

"Okay," she said uneasily. "I can take a hint. Just…just promise me you'll make that appointment. Soon."

"I'll think about it, okay?" he said, sighing, because he liked Gloria, and it wasn't her fault, and he didn't want her to go away thinking badly of herself.

She smiled, relief washing over her face. "As long as thinking about it leads to doing it."

::: :::

"Dad," Declan greeted, banging his way into the apartment and chucking his bag in the corner of the living room.

Brendan looked up from where he was trying to untangle the cord of the hoover and failing. "Hey. Back for your lunch?"

"Nah, left an assignment here." He headed to his bedroom without waiting for a response.

"Okay," Brendan said to himself.

The hoover cord finally cooperated and he unwound it, plugged it in. Now to find the little wotsit that went on the end so he could hoover the sofas, especially the one Vinnie had been sleeping on. Who knew what he'd transferred on to his upholstery.

Declan re-emerged, carrying a folder and his Highway Code book on top. He eyed his dad fiddling with the hoover in confusion, then blinked and apparently decided not to enquire.

"So I was wondering if you could give me a final lesson on Sunday," he said, indicating the book in his hands. "Make sure I'm ready for my test."

Brendan nodded. "Yeah, I can do that. And remember we've got that table booked on Monday night." He left the hoover and walked over to Declan, ruffled his hair. "Celebrate the new driver."

"Get off," Declan said, shoving him away and scowling, smoothing down his hair. "I might not pass."

"'Course you'll pass." There wasn't really any question of that. Brendan had personally seen to it. Long, long hours of yelling at Declan in the car until he got it right.

"If I do, will you buy me that car I—"

"Still no," said Brendan, going back to the hoover. Declan tutted, but he ignored it. "Now go do something with your life. Leave me alone."

"Just you and the hoover, huh?"

"Vinnie's cleaning the bathroom," Brendan murmured, distracted now he'd found the wotsit. He was making progress. He might actually get to switch the thing on in a minute.

"That's…nice of him?"

"Isn't it just."

"Right…" said Declan. He stared at Brendan for another moment. "See you later then."

"Yeah, see you. Behave."

Five minutes later, Brendan had managed to hoover the entire top surface of the couch and felt victorious for it. He lifted off the cushions, because past experience taught him he'd find loose change, old food, and probably an entire wildlife sanctuary under there.

What he found, however, was Vinnie's newest stash of smack, and the paraphernalia that went with it. Well-organised, was Vinnie. And sneaky as fuck.

"Is he shitting me right now?" Brendan muttered to himself. He switched off the hoover and picked up the stash, stared at it for a long moment, debating.

Rage was filling him, boiling hot and smothering. It overrode any rational thought he might have achieved.

He burst into the bathroom so suddenly and loudly that Vinnie, in his yellow rubber gloves, jumped back and almost fell into the shower.

"Brendan, you scared me!" he gasped, pulling himself upright again. Then he blanched when he saw the look on Brendan's face.

"I scared you?" Brendan asked, voice deceptively calm. "I'll fucking scare you."

He grabbed Vinnie by the front of his threadbare T-shirt and yanked him without question out of the bathroom and through the living room.

"What are you doing?" Vinnie was stumbling over his feet, attempting to grab hold of Brendan and keep his balance. But Brendan was pulling him along too quickly, too overcome by anger and fighting to keep it in check. "Wait—"

He stopped by the front door and wrenched it open, rounded on Vinnie. His breathing was stuttered, the effort of not losing it making his chest constrict. "See this?" He held up the stash for Vinnie's inspection, watched his face fall and his cheeks burn, the roll of his throat as he swallowed, the realisation flooding him, realisation that he'd fucked up and got caught. "Take this disgusting filth with you and get out of my home." He shoved the drugs at Vinnie and then grabbed him, propelled him out into the hall. "Don't even think about coming back."

Vinnie fell over his feet, caught himself against the wall. "You can't just throw me out!" His voice and face were both stricken.

"Can't I?" Brendan bared his teeth, wanted so much to reach forward and wring the kid's neck, shake some fucking sense into him. But he was past the point of taking responsibility now. He'd given the idiot his chance, and he'd blown it. "Don't ever let me see your face again, you hear?"

He slammed the door shut and leaned his forehead against it, breathed deeply in an attempt to calm down. Then he went to the kitchen and made a beeline for the whiskey.

He felt like the worst kind of hypocrite. Not so long ago, this apartment had been full of drugs, stashed away in all available hiding places. It had been his main business, the wine bar nothing more than his front. He'd made his fortune on smackheads and crackheads and idiot students looking for a cheap high.

But then Eileen had called, and Declan had got into university here, and he'd had to promise he'd cleaned up his act and if she got _one hint_ he'd gone back on his word, she'd snatch Declan away before he had chance to come up with an excuse.

If he wanted Declan to live with him, and to stay living with him, then he had to go legit. An overnight conversion.

There hadn't been any question of refusing. Having his son in his life was worth all the money he'd not made since he'd stopped selling drugs. It was surprising, really, how easy he'd found it; all he'd needed was a reason, something to fight for, something that made it all worth it.

And now he had Vinnie in his life, bringing it all back into his home. The possibility he could lose everything because of one stupid kid he'd fucked a few times, was irresponsible enough to let that stupid kid fall for him.

He couldn't take the risk, even if it meant turning Vinnie onto the streets. It wasn't a nice thought, and it didn't leave him feeling good about himself.

Because he might not have ever returned Vinnie's love, but that didn't mean he never felt anything for him. He wasn't heartless. And he was only human.

::: :::

The kids came through his door in a whirlwind of blonde hair and flushed cheeks, yelling "Daddy!" in unison, a smiling Amy trailing them.

"Come here," he said, hugging them both to his knees, then reached up to plant a kiss on Amy's cheek. "Hiya."

"Hello." She put the kids' bags down by the door and slipped off her jacket. "How are you?"

"I'm good. Really good. You look nice. Is that a new dress?" He was rambling and he was aware of it, but the sight of his kids always filled him with a raw elation, and coupled with how he had already been feeling thanks to Brendan—he was damn near giddy.

"Thank you. Richard got it for me."

"Still going well with that Richard, is it? I'm just asking!" he added, when she shot him a sharp look at the sceptical note in his voice. "Right, kids." He wrangled them through the door and grabbed their bags. "Let's get your stuff put away, eh. Got loads planned for us."

"Don't spoil them, Ste," Amy warned, following behind like a shadow of disapproval. "I keep saying—"

"I know, right. But they're me kids and I wanna treat them." His tone was breezy, but she was already putting him on edge. It wasn't as though he didn't like Amy—he did, loved her in fact. Always had and probably always would. She was the mother of his children, and she was his first love. She'd been there for him when he'd come out, and through those first stumbles into dating men. She'd stuck with him when he hadn't been able to provide for the kids, and then when he'd used dodgy methods to do so. When his world came to a crashing halt two years ago, it had been her arms that had held him together. But that was the problem—she was another person who knew the truth of what happened, and that made him think of it and face it whenever he was around her. Amy and Doug: the two people who loved him the most, but whose very presence kept that nightmare in the forefront of his mind.

"Right, well… Just don't have them hyper again all weekend like last time. Took me days to get them back to a routine."

He dumped the bags on the beds and half-listened to Leah rabbiting on about something at school, while Lucas headed straight for the toy box as though pulled by a magnet.

"You don't need to tell me how to look after me kids, Amy." He didn't mean to snap, and he winced at himself.

"I know, I just…"

"D'you wanna cuppa?" He smiled at her, took the edge off the conversation. "Come on," he said to the kids. "I've got some juice and biscuits for you."

He got the kids their snacks and set them up on the little table in the living room, cartoons already blaring from the TV. Amy closed the door behind them as she and Ste went into the kitchen for tea, which wasn't a good sign. It meant she wanted to talk, and not about things the kids should hear. He busied himself with making the tea, hoping to stall her.

"You're looking well."

He snorted and then grinned at her over his shoulder. "Don't sound so surprised."

"I'm not. I'm pleased for you." She paused, and then: "So things are going okay?"

"Things are fine," he reassured her. "Better than fine." There was only one way to keep her off the topic he knew she wanted to discuss: giving her some new information she could sink her teeth into. "I met someone."

Her eyes widened. "Someone as in…"

"A man."

"You've got a boyfriend?" She said it with such surprise that he was almost offended. The kettle clicked, and he turned to pour water into the mugs.

"No…I don't know. Maybe. We haven't really put a label on it yet." He shrugged, wasn't sure how he should feel about that, if he should be feeling _anything_ about it at this stage. "But I've been spending loads of time with him. He's dead into me," he added with a cheeky grin.

She raised an eyebrow, took the mug he offered her. "Is he now?"

"Yeah," he said with certainty. "He is." Whatever else made no sense in his life, this did. This was something he could accept with confidence.

"So what's he like, this new man of yours?" She sipped her tea, gazing at him over the rim of her mug. Her eyes were both calculating and curious.

"I dunno. He's just a fella, in'he? What d'you want me to say?"

"Well is he handsome?"

"Ames," he said, huffing a laugh, "no one says handsome anymore."

She rolled her eyes. "Right then, is he, like, sooo hot?"

"Yes," he said, smiling a little in embarrassment. Not that he had anything to be embarrassed about. But he kind of felt like a kid in a playground talking about his first crush, not like a man discussing the finer points of Brendan Brady, someone who went far beyond a schoolyard crush.

"And is he nice to you?"

"'Course he's nice to me. Wouldn't be with him if he weren't. Are you done with the third degree?"

"Stop being so cagey! Can't blame me for wanting to find out a bit about it."

"I'm not being cagey," Ste said. "I just don't have a lot to say about it yet."

"Do you…have feelings for him?"

It made him squirm. He'd barely had time to think about this himself, yet there was no denying he felt _something_, whatever it might be. The past couple of days proved that. "I might."

"Ste!"

"What?"

"You can't just go around falling in love with some random man and not tell me about it!" She seemed more excited than annoyed, her eyes wide and mouth gaping and tea in her hand forgotten.

"I haven't fallen in love with him," he said, and he reckoned it was mostly the truth, for now.

"But you think you might?"

"Uh…was that the door?" He wasn't lying: he'd definitely heard something, and it had come at the perfect time. When initiating this conversation with Amy, he hadn't expected it to lead to him having to analyse his own feelings. His whole body was a mess of sensation when it came to Brendan, everything too hot and intense for him to make sense of it yet.

It was Doug at the door. Of course it was. Because one link to his past currently invading his home wasn't enough.

Ste let him in, although he didn't manage to get three steps through the hall before Leah, who'd come out to investigate the new arrival, grabbed his attention.

"Uncle Doug!" she yelled, then ran into his arms.

He heaved her up for a hug and a kiss, brushed her hair back off her face. "Hey, princess! Did you miss me?"

"What are you doing here?" Ste asked. He hoped he didn't sound as rude as the question implied.

"Came to see this lot, didn't I? Hey, Amy," he said, as she poked her head around the door.

"Hi Doug. Nice to see you. How's everything?"

"Good. Everything's good." He put Leah down and patted her head. "You look great. Where'd you get this dress—"

Amy and Doug took Leah back to the living room, chatting away like old friends, as though Ste suddenly didn't exist.

"I'll re-boil the kettle then, will I?" Ste said to the empty hall, then heaved a sigh and went to do just that.

Carrying two fresh mugs of tea, he made to enter the living and froze, stopped by the door, listening.

"—hasn't been back to therapy for months," Doug was saying, as if he had any fucking right to inform Amy.

Amy sighed. "Have you tried talking to him about it?"

"Won't listen. What can I do? It's not like I can force him."

"No, but… What about his memory?"

"Still doesn't remember any of it. He knows what happened, but he says he can't see it. I don't even think he remembers _him_," Doug said, voice lowering, as though mentioning _him_ would summon him to the living room.

"He really should be seeing his therapist about it."

"I've tried to explain that he'll never be able to move on until he remembers what happened and deals with it, but…"

"Seems he's doing okay with the moving on part, though," Amy said, her tone knowing. "Why didn't you tell me he was seeing someone?"

"It's early days. I'm not really sure it's going to last. I mean, there are a lot of issues there. You'd need to have the patience and understanding of a saint to have a relationship with him."

A hot flood of anger coiled in Ste's belly and the cups shook in his hands. He swallowed, grit his teeth, resisted bursting into the living room and demanding to know why Doug presumed he had the right to have an opinion on _anything_, let alone on his relationship.

"This guy seems good for him, though," Amy said, sounding as though she was trying to be persuasive. Like Doug needed convincing, because apparently it mattered what he thought. "Have you seen how happy he looks?"

"For now," Doug said darkly. "When it all comes crashing down, who's gonna be the one picking up the pieces?"

Amy sighed again. "You're a good friend, Doug. He's so lucky to have you."

Ste pushed open the door, didn't want to hear anything else they had to say about him. He pasted on a smile and deliberately avoided meeting Doug's eye. Amy he could vaguely understand—she'd been the centre of his whole world once, and now she was on the outskirts looking in. It was only natural that she would be both curious and concerned. Doug, though. Just because he knew every detail of Ste's life, it didn't give him the right to divulge them. It was as though the guy had never heard of confidentiality. Ste had been confiding in him all this time; he'd had no idea Doug had been transferring that information to Amy.

"Here, I made some fresh tea for everyone," he said, putting the cups down on the table. He made a concerted effort to keep his voice light. "You staying long, Ames?"

"No, we're taking advantage of the free weekend. Richard's driving us down to the coast." She smiled, then pointed at the window. "He's just waiting for me in the car now."

"He could've come in."

She raised an eyebrow. "After the last time you and him came face-to-face?"

"I weren't in a good mood then," he grumbled.

"You were never in a good mood then."

"Yeah, well I'm better now, ain't I?" he said, and he wanted to mean it so much he ached with it. "I can be friendly to him."

"Maybe next time, yeah?" She didn't sound convinced. Bloody Doug dripping doubt in her ear.

Doug left shortly after, which Ste was pleased about, and Amy chose to make a move once she'd apparently decided it was safe to leave the kids in Ste's care. He didn't blame her for her caution—there had been more than one occasion where she'd brought the kids for a visit and then had to turn around and leave with them immediately once she'd seen the state Ste had been in. He wasn't proud of those memories, and the last few visits he'd made an extra effort to create a warm and welcoming home for the kids, however temporary.

"I'm glad things are going well for you, Ste," she said as she slipped her jacket on and Ste opened the door for her. "You deserve some happiness."

"Thanks."

She smiled at him and gave his shoulder a brief squeeze before turning to leave. Ste was almost in the clear before a sudden thought seemed to strike her and she stopped, looked back up at him. "Oh hey, listen, have you spoken to your solicitor lately?"

"Amy…" he said on a heavy sigh.

"Ste, come on. You can't ignore it. That money—"

"I've already said a million times that I don't want it," he grumbled, wishing he had never told her about it in the first place. Ever since she'd learned of it, it had become her favourite subject to talk about and make him uncomfortable with.

"It's just a shame," she said after a pause, disappointment in her voice. "The only good thing to come out of what happened—"

"Amy." His tone was firm, and she snapped her mouth shut.

"Okay, fine," she said eventually, then leaned up on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. "I'll see you Sunday."

"Enjoy your weekend away."

"I plan to." She smiled and left, and Ste closed the door behind her, feeling as though he could breathe again.

"Right, kids. Who wants ice cream?"

::: :::

It was safe to say Brendan wasn't in the best of moods when he arrived at work. Although Mitzeee was unsympathetic to his plight.

"Nice to see you've finally shown your face," she bitched at him as he rounded the bar to get a drink.

"I was busy."

"Doing what?"

"Hoovering," he grunted.

"Right…" she said, her tone indicating he was a weirdo. "Well there's a pile of messages in your office."

"They can wait. I need a drink." He grabbed the nearest whiskey bottle and turned to find a glass, noticed a man leaning against the bar, watching them both intently. Brendan raised his eyebrows at him. "All right, there? Can I get you a drink?"

"Brendan, this is Michael," Mitzeee interrupted before the guy could respond. "Remember? You saw him the other night?"

"Right. Right. Michael." Brendan assessed him, his designer suit and flashy cufflinks and the fact the guy plucked his eyebrows. "How you doing?"

"Brendan," said Michael in a deep, commanding voice that set Brendan's teeth on edge. "Heard a lot about you."

"I've heard nothing about you." Brendan leaned against the bar in front of Michael, made it look as though he was getting comfortable for the long-haul. "What's your story, Michael?"

"What do you mean?"

"I'm interested," said Brendan. He waved a hand. "Tell me about yourself."

Mitzeee tutted from beside him. "Brendan, this isn't an interview." She sounded awkward and tense, which made Brendan want to roll his eyes. Did she think he was an animal who couldn't control his manners around her new plaything?

"Relax," he said to her. "I'm just getting to know the fella. Nothing wrong with that, is there, Mikey?"

"It's Michael." His eyes narrowed, already making his judgements. That was fine by Brendan.

"Of course it is, yeah. Well I don't know about you, Michael, but I could use a drink. One for yourself?" He put two glasses on the bar and unscrewed the whiskey bottle.

"Sure," said Michael, drawing the word out, calculating and guarded. "Put a double in there."

"Remember you're driving," Mitzeee said with a nervous little smile.

Michael frowned at her. "I don't need you to tell me my limits."

Brendan didn't appreciate the guy's tone, not when it came to Mitzeee, but he decided not to make anything of it for now. Take the soft approach, see what this was about.

"So what do you do for a living, Michael?"

"I work in finance," Michael said, swirling the drink around the glass and inspecting it like a pretentious idiot.

"Of course you do." His tone was deadpan, and Mitzeee noticed, shooting him a look that told him he better shut up now or he'd be in trouble. Naturally, he ignored her. "Sounds thrilling. I'd love to hear all about that."

"Brendan," Mitzeee warned, his name coming through clenched teeth.

"Hey, do you mind?" he said to her. "I'm making a new friend here."

"You're heading towards a six-inch stiletto up your backside."

"Kinky bitch."

"Language around the lady, if you don't mind," said Michael, his tone indicating he thought he was putting Brendan in line.

Brendan stifled a laugh.

"Oh we've got a gentleman here, Mitzeee."

"Yeah," she said, eyes shooting daggers now. "You could learn something."

"I doubt it."

"Can you sod off to the office now, please?" she asked, desperate.

He raised an eyebrow. "And miss all the fun here?"

"The only one having fun is you."

"That's not true, is it, Michael?"

"Actually," said Michael, projecting arrogance and a superiority complex, "Mitzeee and I were in the middle of a conversation before you arrived."

"Oh I'm sorry," Brendan said. He turned to Mitzeee. "Here was me thinking I paid you to work, not to fraternise with the customers."

"I'm hardly a customer," said Michael indignantly. "And there'll be no more _fraternising_ going on now I'm around."

"Staked your claim already, have you?"

"Brendan, for god's sake," Mitzeee hissed, and when he looked her in the eye properly, he could tell he was pushing it. She was silently pleading with him.

He decided to leave before he could get himself in hot water. The guy he couldn't care less about; Mitzeee, however, he didn't want to piss off. Even if he couldn't for the life of him figure out what she was doing with this pompous, pretentious idiot of a man.

"Monday," he said to her, picking up his glass and pushing away from the bar. "Don't forget about the meal."

"The what?"

"The family meal to celebrate Declan passing his driving test. It's on Monday. I told you about it ages ago."

Her face twisted into a wince. "Oh. Shit, sorry. I can't. Michael's made plans for us," she said, looking as awkward as she sounded.

He took a calming breath. "So un-make them."

"It's a reservation at Carlito's," said Michael, even though no one was fucking talking to him. "I'm sure I don't need to tell you about the waiting list. We're very lucky to have got a table. I had to pull in some favours."

"Did you? Really?" he said, all fake enthusiasm. "I'm sorry you wasted your time. Mitz, c'mon, we've had this planned for weeks."

Michael frowned at him. "She already said she can't go."

"D'you mind, fella?" Brendan asked, his temper frayed. "This is a family thing."

"It's not though, is it?" Michael looked as though he wanted to roll his eyes, dismiss the whole conversation as trivial and irrelevant. Brendan wanted to feed him his teeth. "She's not your family. She's your employee."

"What she _is_," said Brendan, jaw clenched, "is none of your business."

"Actually…" Michael smiled, a slow, devious smile that made Brendan stop and pay attention. There was something in this guy's eyes that he did not like, not at all. "Everything about her is my business now."

"Are you—Mitzeee, am I meant to be taking this seriously?"

"For god's sake, Brendan." She grabbed his arm and yanked him away to the other end of the bar, radiating anger. "_What_ is your problem?" she asked, spinning around to face him with fire in her eyes. "My boyfriend plans a special night for us and you—"

"Your boyfriend? Seriously? You've known him five minutes."

"I've known him as long as you've known Ste," she said bluntly, drawing him to a screeching halt. "Are you gonna tell me he's not your boyfriend now?"

"He's…" His mind swam, ears ringing with her words, and he did his best to push all the sudden confusion aside so he could focus on the matter at hand. "I don't know what he is. But that's different."

"How? How is that different?" She was waving her arms around like a madwoman, almost apoplectic in her irritation. "Why does your relationship get to be this big epic thing while you can't take mine seriously?"

He couldn't think about it now, couldn't get lost in those thoughts.

"The guy's a dick," he said flatly. He'd never had to beat around the bush with her before, and he wasn't going to start now.

"No he's not," she insisted, but he knew her well enough to detect the hint of doubt in her tone.

"Yes. He is. Why are you wasting your time on him?"

She heaved a breath and looked at him through narrowed eyes. "I like him. And more importantly, he likes me. The _real_ me. I'm not just a pair of boobs and big hair to him! Do you know how long it's been?"

"You can't settle for the first guy who—"

"This is none of your business," she snapped. "Okay? Stay out of it."

He put his hands on each side of her face, cupped her cheeks and bent his knees to look her directly in the eye. It was a testament to their friendship that she didn't try to shove him away no matter how annoyed she was with him right now.

"Don't change for him," he pleaded quietly, because there was a concern here, a fear that she'd suffered so much heartache at the hands of shallow men that she was now willing to compromise herself for the sake of something that even vaguely resembled a genuine relationship. "For anyone. Promise me that."

"Stop being so melodramatic," she huffed, but her voice had softened, and she reached up to hold onto his wrists, stroked her thumbs over his pulse points. "Look, I'm sorry about the meal. I'll call Declan."

He had nothing else to argue with, couldn't force her into anything, and so he released her and walked away, hoped she wasn't blinded enough to make any stupid decisions.

He stopped to pick up the bottle of whiskey and his glass, eavesdropped on the conversation going on behind him now in hushed whispers.

"What was that about?" Michael was asking her, sounding disapproving.

"Nothing, don't worry about it," she responded, voice overly bright and fake. "Can I get you an orange juice or something?"

"I'll have another whiskey."

"I don't think you should have any more," she said delicately. "You're driving."

"I'll decide when I've had enough," Michael said. Brendan stalled his departure by pretending to read whatever was written on the pad beside the till, wanted to wait until he felt comfortable enough leaving.

"Can you see how those men are looking at you?" Michael asked after a moment. He didn't sound happy. But then he never did, Brendan was coming to realise.

Mitzeee laughed airily. "I don't even notice anymore."

"It happens a lot, then, does it?"

"Well when you look _this_ good—"

"Can't you cover up a bit?" he interrupted, his tone hinting at anger.

"I like how I dress, thank you very much," she said, and _there_ was the Mitzeee Brendan knew, the one who didn't take shit from any man. "It's my statement."

"So you want people to think you're a whore?" Michael asked, and Brendan was halfway across the bar before he realised he'd moved, seeing nothing but red and the ugly look on Michael's face.

Mitzeee's hands slapped against his chest, and for such a small girl, she had some strength. He found himself being propelled backwards.

"Office, now!" she yelled at him. Then she lowered her voice, hissing at him: "For god's sake, Brendan. Just mind your own business. Please."

He bared his teeth and pointed at Michael, met his eye and stared him down, anger coursing through his veins and making his head throb.

But he did as he was told, and he stayed in his office for the rest of the night, afraid if he went out he'd commit murder and ruin one of his best friendships.

By the time he made it home, he was in an even worse mood, and all he wanted to do was go to bed and phone Steven, preferably in that order. It was alarming, how quickly Steven had become the person he most wanted to speak to before going to bed, but what was more alarming was the sight awaiting him as he got out of his car and crossed to his apartment block in the pouring rain.

Vinnie was huddled down on the ground in the doorway, some flimsy old jacket from god knew where wrapped around him, his hair dripping and his eyes sorrowful as he gazed up at Brendan.

Brendan sighed.

"What did I say about showing your face around here again?"

"Brendan, please," Vinnie said, getting to his feet. He was soaked through and shivering, lips pale and eyes shadowed. It was pathetic, and Brendan's heart clenched uncomfortably. "I've got nowhere else to go and no money. Everything's shut for the weekend—council, social… _Please_."

Brendan stared at him, at war with himself. On the one hand, the kid was a pathetic state who was, annoyingly, not wrong. On the other hand, drugs.

He made a snap decision.

"Empty your pockets."

Vinnie did so in a rush, trembling hands stumbling over trying to turn all his pockets inside out. "I'm clean, I promise you," he said, looking up at Brendan imploringly. "It was just a stupid mistake."

Brendan clicked his teeth together, couldn't help feeling as though he was making a stupid mistake himself, but unable to do anything differently. The kid needed help, needed _his_ help. "Fine. You can stay tonight. Tomorrow I'll set you up in a hotel for the rest of the weekend. Come Monday morning, you're on your own." He unlocked the main door of the building, opened it wide to let Vinnie into the warmth. "I'm done with you, Vinnie," he added, and watched the pain flit across Vinnie's face.

"I…I know," Vinnie muttered, head bowed, the very picture of dejection. "I'm sorry."

Brendan wasn't convinced, but there was little he could do about it now.

::: :::

Ste was in the process of getting changed for bed when his phone rang, and so he grabbed it while wearing nothing but a T-shirt, his entire bottom half bare. He smiled when he saw Brendan's name on the screen, climbed under the blankets despite his half-naked state.

"Hi."

"Hey there," Brendan purred into his ear, sounding like every wet dream Ste could ever have. "Did I wake you?"

"Nah, I was just getting into bed."

"Hmm. How are your kids?"

It was nice that Brendan cared enough to ask, although Ste did wonder if it was little more than small talk.

"They're great. Worn me out already though," he said around a yawn.

"Bet they're just excited to see their daddy."

"Not as excited as I am to see them," Ste said, smiling.

"You know," Brendan said, sounding thoughtful, "I never would've guessed you'd fathered a couple of kids already."

"Well technically only Lucas is mine. I've been raising our Leah as me own since she was born though."

There was a pause, and then: "You're raising another man's kid?"

"I don't even look at it like that," Ste said, waving a dismissive hand, even though Brendan wasn't there to see it. "She's just me daughter, in't she?"

"You keep surprising me, Steven." He sounded warmed by the revelation.

"Do I?"

"Yeah."

A slow smile crept onto Ste's face. "In a good way?"

"Definitely in a good way," Brendan drawled.

The smile came out in full force now. "Well that's all right then," he said, satisfied. "What have you been up to today?" He wanted to keep the conversation moving, keep Brendan's voice in his ear, that lilting Irish tone that never failed to set his skin tingling.

"Let's see…" said Brendan, apparently thinking it over. "I got up pretty late, mysteriously naked. Then I shot my brains out of my dick in the kitchen—"

"Brendan!" Ste burned red almost instantly, slapping a hand on his face to cover himself as if he had an audience to his embarrassment. "Oh my god."

"What?" Brendan's tone suggested he knew exactly what, the bastard.

"Don't talk about it."

"About what?"

"About, you know…what we do together." He was mumbling, couldn't believe Brendan had taken them down this path so suddenly and brazenly. He had no shame, whereas Ste had more than enough for many, and the combination meant that, apparently, Brendan delighted in making him squirm.

It got Ste a little hot under the collar, if he was going to be honest with himself. A sexually confident man, directing all that attention on him.

"Don't you like talking about the things you enjoy doing?" Brendan asked, teasing now, well aware of the effect he was having on him.

"Yeah, but not _that_," Ste said. "It's dead embarrassing." Although the embarrassment was filtering away almost as quickly as it had arrived. Brendan had this uncomplicated ability to put him at ease with very little effort. He was Ste's own personal mood stabilizing drug.

Brendan chuckled, low and dark. "Don't be embarrassed about sex, Steven."

"I'm not. I just—it's just a bit awkward." He shifted in the bed, unsure of how much to reveal. It wasn't that he was embarrassed about the sex they had together, but there was a touch of shame there, that he hadn't been able to give back, not how a normal man should. "All the things you've done for me," he tried, voice not as strong now, "and I still haven't…"

"Still haven't what?" Brendan asked, but he must know, must be at least a little frustrated about it.

Ste swallowed. "Touched you."

"It hasn't been a problem," Brendan said instantly, and he sounded so genuine that Ste couldn't help the sigh of relief.

"It's not that I don't want to," Ste said, because Brendan might be fine with it for now, but Ste wanted him to know he _was_ desired, that Ste did want him. He just didn't yet know _how_ to want him.

"I'm not rushing you." Brendan's tone was comforting. "Everything's been…good, regardless of who's doing what."

"You don't feel like you're, I don't know, missing out?" He didn't know why he was pushing it; Brendan had already put him at ease, but there was a part of him that couldn't understand how a man like Brendan could be satisfied with how things were between them at the moment. Brendan was such a strong, virile, sexual man. In comparison, Ste was weak and incapable. How was Brendan not already bored?

"Believe it or not," Brendan said, his tone implying he knew exactly what was going on in Ste's head, and he wanted to put a stop to that bullshit right now, "some men get as much pleasure out of making someone else feel good. And it's not like I'm missing anything. I came all over you this morning."

A giggle escaped Ste before he could stifle it. "I still can't believe we did that."

"What, me licking you open in the middle of the kitchen?" Brendan's voice had dropped, and now it was like he was licking pure sex into Ste's ear. He shivered.

"Brendan…" It was meant as a warning, but it came out more like a plea.

"Or the bit where I fucked you so hard with my fingers, you were screaming the walls of my apartment down?"

"I swear I nearly passed out," Ste admitted, breath shortening, the memories drenching his brain in lust. "It was…"

"Yeah, I know," Brendan said, gruff now, effected.

"I've never…with anyone." Ste swallowed past the lump of tension in his throat, the good kind of tension that made his veins buzz. "It's never been like that."

"Yeah?" said Brendan, dark and sultry, a hint of filthy promise in his tone. "You want more?"

"I want…" He didn't know what he wanted. Shoved the quilt off his bare legs, burning up and itching with heat.

"You wanna touch your dick for me now, Steven?"

"What?"

"Touch yourself—are you hard?"

"I…" Ste gulped, looked at the door to ensure it was firmly closed, then glanced down at his dick. "About halfway," he admitted.

"Good, that's good." Brendan's voice was like silk and gravel combined, and it shot down to Ste's groin like a bolt of electricity. "You got anything around you can use? Lube?"

"Uh…" He looked across at his bedside table, cursed his inability to prepare for sexual situations. Not that he ever thought there'd be another sexual situation in this room. Life before Brendan was painfully dry, and it was how Ste had wanted it to remain for the rest of his time.

But that was life before Brendan.

"There's some hand cream."

"That'll do," said Brendan. "Get some of that on your hand."

Ste rushed to follow the instruction, embarrassingly keen. The cream made a _snick_ sound as he opened it; he wondered if Brendan heard it, if he could picture it.

"You done it?"

The cream globbed into his hand, and he chucked the bottle aside. "Yeah." He was breathless already.

"Pulled your dick out?" Brendan asked, because he had no trouble speaking so openly. Ste envied him, hoped he could match him one day.

"I'm…I'm half naked." The admission made his cheeks warm.

"Even better," Brendan purred, sounding surprised by the information. Then he gave Ste more instructions, ones that made his stomach clench with delicious anticipation. "Put your hand on yourself. Don't move it—just hold yourself. Okay?"

Ste did as he was told, wrapped his hand around his cock, squeezed a little to feel the pulse of the vein beneath his fingers.

"Now think about me," Brendan murmured, his tone dropping to such low levels of filth, it was a wonder he didn't make himself come just listening to his own voice. "Can you do that? Think about what I do to you. How I make you feel."

Ste sighed and let his eyes drift closed, let his head fill with memories. How he'd kissed Brendan in the car until he was drunk on him; how he'd sat atop Brendan and felt powerful, in control; how Brendan had the ability to fuck the life out of him with just his fingers, made him come multiple times without once touching his dick. How the feel of Brendan's skin set his own alight, how he craved Brendan's touch, and wanted to climb into him when they were together. How Brendan filled him with confidence and desire and strength and lust. How he made Ste feel like a _man_, and delivered him pleasure that made his very bones tremble. "You make me feel good," he admitted out loud, and it seemed like a monumental understatement.

"Yeah, when my fingers are inside you?"

"Yeah," Ste breathed, head tipping back on the headboard, hand clenching tighter around his cock—he was hardening rapidly, with no more stimulation than the sound of Brendan's voice and the things he was making him feel.

"When I push in deep, fuck right into you."

"When you hit that spot inside me that makes me—" Ste's voice was stuttering, a wave of pleasure washing over him, "makes me—"

"Makes you scream, Steven," Brendan supplied. "Feels so good, you fucking my fingers like that. Gets me so hard for you."

"Brendan—" He was pleading and he didn't care, wanted Brendan to know he was worked up, that he was painfully aroused.

"Brush your thumb over the head of your dick now," Brendan instructed, and Ste could have cried with relief. "Just gently."

He gasped as he did so, eyes shooting open at the sudden rush of pleasure that shot up his dick and into his gut.

"Harder now," Brendan continued, and Ste did, rubbed over the head, feeling how smooth it was under his thumb, noticing its texture in a way he never had before. "Bit harder. Find the slit. Press against it. Good boy," he added, when Ste whimpered at the sensation. "Underneath the head now, the little ridge, you got it?" He didn't wait for a response, seemed to be working on Ste's noises alone, his sighs and whimpers. "Rub against it, quicker. That's it. Feeling good?"

"Yeah…" It did, it felt really good, but it wasn't enough. He was too worked up to tease, couldn't believe how desperate he was for another orgasm when he'd already received so much pleasure in the past twenty-four hours. "I need—"

"You wanna start stroking? Go slow. We're building this. Gonna make you feel amazing, I promise."

Ste breathed into the phone, wasn't really capable of any other response. Let his eyes drift shut and basked in Brendan's voice washing over him, like bathing in butter and caramel, his heart quickening as he gripped his dick and stroked, now that Brendan said he could.

"Squeeze on the upstroke, not as you're going down. Go loose on the way down."

"Oh my god," Ste said, because this was a new way of doing it and it felt different, more intense, like he was milking pleasure through his dick. Imagined it was Brendan's hand working him over, Brendan's touch making his veins pulse with heat and his chest tighten.

"Catch the head with your thumb each time you go up," Brendan murmured now, and his voice was tight. "Brush over it. You getting wet there?"

"Yeah." Precome was beading at the slit, slicking his thumb on each stroke.

"Spread it over the head. Rub it in."

It meant stopping the strokes but he did it, because Brendan was wringing sensation out of him like a master and Ste trusted him to give him the best kind of pleasure, would do anything he said if it meant Brendan would guide him to orgasm in the most intense way possible, the way he always did.

When Brendan next spoke, there was an edge to his voice that burned all across Ste's skin. "Put the phone on loudspeaker. You're gonna need both hands."

Ste sucked in a broken breath, his back arching without cause, as though his body was bending in the pursuit of pleasure, seeking the heat of Brendan's voice, the silk of his touch. "Okay," he whispered because yes, yes to all of it.

He tried to focus on the phone with hazy, lust-blown vision, fiddled with it until he hit the right button and Brendan's voice filled the room, washing over Ste as though he were right here with him, crooning into Ste's ear when he placed the phone on the pillow beside his head.

"You good?" Brendan asked, and there was the overwhelmingly distinct sound of his belt opening. Ste's breath froze in his chest, and all he could do was lay there and await further instruction.

"Get the cream again. Make your other hand all slick for me. Your fingers."

Ste did so with shaking hands, drenched them in cream, more than he needed, coordination blown to hell and desperation making him clumsy.

"You done it?"

"Yeah, all wet," Ste said through a throat swollen with thrilling desire. He licked his lips, tried to take some control. Brendan wasn't even _here_ and he was still destroying him, twisting up his insides and turning him into a pliable mess of need.

"All wet for me?" Brendan's breathing was heavier now, and his voice sounded nearer somehow, like he was pressing the phone closer to his face. "Good. Hold your dick, right down low. Hold it tight."

Ste took his dick in hand, bit his lip at the shock of sensation that made it twitch in his palm.

"With your other hand," Brendan said slowly, voice as thick as molasses, "I want you to go in with one finger."

Ste let out a sound like a strangled groan, powerless to resist, hand slipping between his legs like Brendan was controlling him with the power of his voice alone. Pleasure was shooting down his spine, making him arch, his toes curl, and he had to hold his breath at the first touch of his finger against his hole.

"Go straight in, Steven," Brendan urged. "I know you're still a little bit loose from me this morning."

Ste whimpered and pushed in, waited for pain that never came. Felt his inner walls close around his finger, pulling on it, trying to suck him deeper. His hole was twitching around his skin, the nerves there tingling and sending pleasure straight through to his dick—he gave it a quick stroke, unable to stop himself, the intrusion of his finger inside him too much to cope with. Desperate for Brendan's touch, for Brendan's fingers working him open, Brendan's hand around his dick.

"Deeper," Brendan said knowingly. "I know you can go deeper than that. Feel how warm it is? How good it feels?"

"Oh…god." He pushed in as far as he could go, had never been this deep himself, never had the nerve or the inclination to see how far he could push his own limits. But Brendan was giving him no option, telling him what to do and expecting obedience, wanting to work Steven to a powerful orgasm like his own pleasure meant nothing, like Ste's ecstasy was the only relevance.

But Ste could hear movement, the rustle of material, Brendan's heavy, disjointed sigh in his ear, and the idea that Brendan was touching himself now, that they were both seeking pleasure at the same time, sent him into a tailspin and he let out a low, dirty moan that had Brendan growling back at him and whispering something that sounded as though it could have been the beginning of his name.

"Stroke your dick," Brendan pushed, not even hiding his own desperation now, words heavy and thick and melting in Ste's ear, washing over his whole body. "Bit quicker now. Work yourself up, c'mon. Now start fucking yourself with your finger. Push in deep, hard."

Ste cried out, couldn't help it, had never worked himself over like this, didn't even know it was possible to make himself feel this good. The cream was sounding obscene against his skin with every stroke, every thrust of his finger, the room filling with the smell of sweat and heat, his skin burning with the all-encompassing need for Brendan's hand on him, anywhere, anything.

"Harder," said Brendan. "C'mon. How's it feel?"

Ste couldn't speak, yet Brendan was expecting a response, the sound of his own self-pleasure making every muscle in Ste's body pull in tight, causing his body to almost curl in on itself.

"It feels…god. I can't—"

"Yeah you can. You ain't coming yet."

A groan caught in Ste's chest as he tried to regain a shred of control, eyes squeezing shut so tight he saw stars.

"Be good for me now and add another finger. Go slow, stretch around it."

It was more than Ste thought he could handle, yet he managed it—shoved in another finger and felt his hole ripple around it, the slight burn adding to the intense pleasure, making him almost bite his tongue off in his effort to stifle the cry threatening to push past his swollen, bitten lips.

"You good?"

He gasped for breath. "Yeah."

"Okay…fuck yourself. I wanna hear you working your hole now, Steven. Need to hear it. C'mon, harder."

He gave it everything he had, stripped his dick raw and thrust his fingers in and out of his hole like a whore earning his keep, imagined it was Brendan's touch, Brendan's fingers, working through the sloppy mess of his hole and making him want to cry with how good it felt.

He was being loud, both his moans and the sounds of the cream slurping around his hole and over his dick. But Brendan didn't seem to mind—his own noises were increasing and he was breathing the sound of pure filth and bliss into his ear.

"I said harder," he hissed, and Ste did, went even quicker, battered his bruised hole and fucked himself deep, head tipping forward then cracking back against the headboard, body so slick with sweat his T-shirt was clinging to him, abrasive over his nipples and the bones at his collar.

"Good," said Brendan, "that's good. You still stroking your dick?"

"Y-yeah…"

"Quicker. We're gonna get you there now. Gonna make you come all over yourself. _Fuck_, Jesus," he said suddenly, and Ste imagined him gritting his teeth, trying to hold off his own orgasm, hand working furiously over his dick as he orchestrated Ste's pleasure to his own satisfaction, controlled how Ste reached oblivion even when he wasn't in the same building.

It was too much, and Ste was falling apart at the seams, out of control now and hurtling towards the edge without resistance. "Oh god, I'm gonna—"

"You close? You gonna come for me?" It sounded like Brendan was going to beat him to it, his voice so heavy, the shuffle of his movements so quick, his breathing harsh and urgent and so close it was like Ste could feel it against the side of his face, his neck.

"Fuck, _fuck_, I'm—"

"Shit," hissed Brendan. "Stop. Stop right now." He sounded in agony, the best kind of agony, and Ste could hardly believe he'd heard him right, couldn't stop, didn't want to stop.

"What? No, I—"

"I said stop." His voice was so commanding all of a sudden that Ste came to a sudden halt, breath punching out of his chest and back arching in complete, overwhelming frustration. He had been so close to the edge that he could still feel it now, just one more thrust of his fingers or stroke of his dick and he'd be _there_, tipping into oblivion—

"I'm coming over," Brendan said, and there were different sounds of movement now. "I'll be there in five minutes."

Ste was so frozen in intense arousal that he barely registered what Brendan meant. "I can't wait."

"You can, you're gonna." Brendan was moving around, the jangle of keys and the clink of his belt. Ste was slowly starting to focus again, realise what was happening. Brendan was coming _here_, was going to touch him, and god, he couldn't cope with the anticipation. "Go unlock the door, then get back in bed. I want you to keep fucking yourself, keep yourself hard and ready for me, you understand? But don't come, Steven. Don't you dare come."

This was a side of Brendan that Ste hadn't yet experienced, this commanding, demanding, power-hungry wall of lust and desire and pleasure. Ste swallowed, licked his lips, still on edge, still desperate, had no idea how he was supposed to stay in control until the moment Brendan arrived and laid his hands on him, made him come by his own ministrations.

Ste's head swam with it all.

"I—just hurry up."

"Leaving now."

It took less than five minutes, must have broken all conceivable traffic laws, but no sooner had Ste got back to bed after unlocking the door and shoved his fingers back inside himself, there were the sounds of hurried footsteps in his hall and the burning rush of anticipation coiling around his spine.

Brendan didn't know which bedroom was his, and Ste hoped he had the intelligence to first try the one with the light spilling under the door. A moment later his door handle turned, and he had half a second to decide if he wanted to cover up or not before the door opened and there Brendan stood, in all his aroused, masculine glory, looking straight up the bed at Ste's hole gaping around his fingers, his hand clenched like a vice around his dick, and his eyes which were no doubt blown to all hell.

Brendan's own eyes flooded with darkness instantly, and he closed the door behind himself, started stripping off his jacket before he'd even reached the bed.

"Well aren't you a picture," he murmured, but Ste was too focused on the large bulge in Brendan's jeans to take heed of his words.

"Please…" he whispered, didn't care how desperate and needy he sounded.

"I've got you," Brendan said, and he was on Ste in an instant, fully clothed body draped over him, the heat of him burning through Ste's skin and muscle. "C'mere." He coaxed Ste into a smothering kiss, tongues tangling and slick together, then he reached a hand down, curled his fingers around Ste's wrist. "You still all wet for me down here?" he murmured against Ste's mouth, then pulled on his hand until his fingers slipped out. Brendan replaced them with his own, buried two fingers inside him without preamble and made Ste's entire body jerk up off the bed, almost bit Brendan's lip with the jolt of pure pleasure. "Jesus _Christ_," Brendan groaned, already working his fingers in and out of Ste's sloppy hole, mouthing at Ste's lips, breathing against him. "You're so good, so good for me."

"Brendan, please. I need to come."

"I know you do. Gonna get you there. Hold on…" He removed his fingers from Steven's hole, shoved down his trousers and boxers in a rush, thrillingly urgent, tucked them beneath his balls. "Here," he said, then grabbed Ste's hand, guided it down to where their dicks were resting against each other. Ste panicked for half a second, took a breath to keep control. "Get your hand around both. Like this." Brendan showed him, wrapped Ste's hand around both their hard lengths, pressed them together. "You can touch me, it's fine," he urged, soothing, as if sensing Ste's hesitation. "That's it. We're gonna come together now."

He shoved his fingers back inside Ste at the same time as he thrust his hips forward into Ste's grip, making their cocks slide and grind together, and Ste was too worked up for this, had been on the edge for too long, breathed, "Bren…please…" as Brendan fucked his hole with his fingers and Ste worked his fist over their cocks rapidly and he knew it was going to be over too quickly, curled his body into Brendan's as pleasure rocketed up his spine and he squeezed his fist and cried out as Brendan hit _that_ spot inside him…

Brendan gasped above him, forehead dropping down onto Ste's, skin sweat-slick and hot. He squeezed his eyes shut, lips parting and teeth clenching, gasped, "_Fuck_, Steven, I'm gonna—"

"Oh god—" said Ste in the instant before Brendan shoved his fingers in _deep_ and he came all in a rush, shooting up and over Brendan's shirt, his own hand, Brendan's dick. Brendan followed almost instantly, biting back a groan and yanking his fingers out of Ste's hole to fist in the sheet beside him, body jerking and shaking, skin burning through Ste like a furnace.

Brendan collapsed on him after, and Ste took his weight for a while, ran his hand up and down Brendan's back while he tried to remember how to breathe. After a while Brendan lifted up and looked into his eyes and Ste smiled, bashful and satisfied.

"Hello, by the way," he said, fighting the random urge to giggle.

"Hmm. Long time no see." Brendan's voice was a sated purr, washing over Ste. He leaned down and kissed him then, leisurely and content, and Ste got lost in it for an immeasurable time until Brendan broke away suddenly, looking down at Ste with a frown. "Steven, are you…" He sounded weird, unsure, lacking his usual confidence.

Ste drew his eyebrows together. "What?"

"Are you…" He cleared his throat, looked as though he were having an internal fight with himself. "Are you seeing any other men?"

Ste couldn't deny the giggle then, a giddy feeling flooding his chest. "Are trying to ask me if I wanna go steady?"

Brendan rolled his eyes, the corners of his own lips curling up. "I just don't want anyone else touching you," he said, smoothing Ste's hair back off his forehead.

"When would I have time for that? There's this big hairy Irishman in my face all the time."

"That big hairy Irishman doesn't like to share," Brendan all but growled, making Ste laugh again.

Then he sobered, and his voice lowered when he spoke.

"You're the only one who's got this close in a long time."

"Good," Brendan said after a pause. "Let's keep it that way."

Ste gave him a playful poke in the ribs. "Same goes for you."

"I don't have the energy for anyone else," Brendan said dryly.

Ste tutted. "You're a real romantic," he said, but the sensation filling him was warm and light and comforting, and he smoothed his hands up Brendan's sides, wanted to prolong their moment.

"Well I do try." They kissed again, kissed until their lips were swollen with it and Ste's head had started to drift into a pleasant sort of oblivion. Once again, Brendan broke it by lifting his head and looking at Ste with another frown.

"Uh, so there's this thing on Monday?" he said, sounding tentative and awkward. It kind of made Ste want to smother him in affection. "A meal. Celebrating my son passing his driving test."

"Okay…"

"You wanna come?"

"Is that…do you think that's a good idea?" Ste asked, squirming a little. Seeing Brendan was one thing, but seeing his _family…_ "I mean, you and I haven't… Well it's early days, innit?"

Brendan gave him a very serious, level look. "I want you there, Steven," he said, and Ste couldn't really find a way to argue with that. He had plenty of time to freak out about it. Now wasn't the time for it.

"All right, if you're sure."

"I am," Brendan said. He gave him another quick kiss then heaved himself away, leaving Ste cold and abruptly alone in the bed. He pulled the blanket over his lap and sighed, wished he could keep Brendan here with him for the night.

"Now I hate to fuck and run," Brendan continued as he did up his trousers and belt, his voice dry and playful, "but I told Declan I'd only be half an hour."

"Oh right, so I'm your booty call now, am I?" Ste tutted and rolled his eyes all at once, projecting annoyance even as the grin fought its way onto his face. "Or would you like to leave fifty quid on the dresser?"

"Don't sell yourself short." Brendan smirked at him. "A hundred, at least."

"Funny man, you," Ste said around a laugh he couldn't stifle. "But yeah, you need to piss off. My kids are here."

"Gissa kiss then." Brendan leaned over him, hands planted on the bed, and sipped a long, dragging kiss from his lips. He winked as he pulled away, headed for the door, grabbing his jacket as he went.

"Wait," Ste said, although he wasn't sure why. He didn't know what he wanted, only that he didn't want Brendan to leave, couldn't stand the idea of not seeing him until Monday now, a whole three days away.

It should worry him, how hooked he was on this man.

"Hmm?" said Brendan, paused in the doorway, looking over at Ste with his eyebrow raised.

"Uh…" He racked his brain for something. "My kids are getting picked up at five on Sunday. D'you wanna…I dunno, go to the cinema or something?" As soon as he said it, he felt like a complete plank. Grown men did not invite other men to the cinema.

But Brendan smiled, and it was the kind of smile that felt private, just for him.

"It's a date," Brendan said, flashing him another wink before leaving.

Ste slept like the dead that night.

::: :::

The rest of the weekend passed quickly for Brendan. He woke up Saturday morning, pleasantly sated and content, to the sight of Vinnie in an apron—god knew where he got it from—setting up the table for a full English he'd apparently been slaving over since the crack of dawn. Brendan ate it, because food was food, and he sat there watching Vinnie in amusement as he cleaned up after and brought Brendan fresh coffee, overly chirpy and so obviously trying to distract Brendan from his plan to throw him out that day.

Brendan let him get away with it for the time being, because it was too early in the day to do anything about him, and really, it was handy having a maid and cook on tap. He left him to the dishes and his promise to do all the laundry and headed out, sent Warren a text: _You coming with me to get this car for Declan? ~B_

He picked up Warren and together they headed to the dealership, Warren rabbiting on about some bar fight he'd had to break up the night before.

"That's why you have security," Brendan told him.

Warren grinned. "Nah, I like to get my hands dirty."

The dealership was a good thirty minutes away and Brendan settled into the drive, window rolled down and sunglasses on. The weather was turning, weak sunlight growing stronger as the breeze warmed, spring kicking into gear and bringing with it the promise of long nights and hot days.

"So you and that Ste bloke," Warren said, apropros of nothing, and Brendan groaned inwardly.

"What about him?"

"It's getting serious?"

Brendan thought about last night, about the conversation they'd had. Going _steady_. He hadn't said it outright, but there was no denying that was what he meant. Exclusivity. He wanted Steven to himself; wanted to know Steven was his, that no one else had any right to a claim, that whenever someone asked Steven out for a drink, or for dinner, or even gave him a leading look, he would say, "_Can't, sorry, I'm with someone."_ Wanted that someone to be _him_. Steven was growing in confidence every day, and soon he would have no barriers, and the next time another man flirted with him, he wouldn't freak out, would have no reason to avoid the possibility other than loyalty to the man he was seeing. To his relationship.

Brendan wanted a relationship with him, something he'd never wanted before. The closest he'd ever come was his marriage to Eileen, but only one of them had taken their vows seriously.

But he was serious about Steven, and he wanted to do it right, so he supposed that answered Warren's question, at least on his part. "Yeah, I guess."

"Huh," said Warren, and made no other comment.

They arrived at the dealership and checked out the car for the final time, Warren agreeing to hide it around the back of his club until after Declan passed his test and they all went out for the meal.

"Mitzeee still coming?" Warren asked, deceptively casual, as they waited around for the man with the keys to bring them the paperwork.

Brendan told him about Mitzeee's fella, about the feeling he gave him.

"What kind of feeling?" Warren's tone was sharp, his eyes narrowed.

Brendan shrugged. "Dunno, he's just a dick," he said. "She's not coming anyway. Got other plans."

Warren scowled at the pavement, and Brendan could see his mind working. Warren didn't often keep quiet when someone was bothering him—very vocal, was Warren, often annoyingly so. But he said nothing now, which made Brendan concerned. He didn't question him, though. Time had taught him that he'd get the answers eventually, and pushing Warren into anything usually led to drama.

Warren drove the new car back to its hiding spot and Brendan headed into work, spent the day phoning in orders and doing his accounts and reviewing Mitzeee's latest events records. It was a busy night, and Brendan wasted some hours behind the bar, serving and chatting and flirting with the girls. He was most comfortable in his office away from the crowds, but he couldn't deny how alive he felt when in the thick of it, playing the charming barman. He'd become so successful in this game for a reason.

It wasn't until he got home at just past midnight that he realised he'd let Vinnie get away with another night on the couch. He was sound asleep, his features soft, and all around him the apartment shone and gleamed with cleanliness. Vinnie had been busy, and a minute later Brendan followed his nose to a shepherd's pie waiting for him in the oven. He spooned a healthy portion onto a plate and microwaved it, then took it to his bedroom, switched on the TV and ate on his bed in the dim lighting. It was good, but he'd had better.

Declan came home a while later, called in on his dad for a brief chat. He'd been at his girlfriend's, had dinner there he said, going a little red when Brendan teased him about getting cosy with the in-laws. But it seemed as if this relationship of his was going somewhere, and Brendan figured the time was coming for him to get to know the girl.

"You should bring her to dinner on Monday," he said, and Declan agreed, mildly bashful about it. He got up off Brendan's bed after, took the empty plate with him, bid his dad goodnight and left him alone.

Brendan considered calling Steven, but there was keen and then there was desperate. He was okay with the former, didn't mind showing his colours in that respect. But he didn't want to smother the man. Besides, he was seeing him tomorrow, and it was on Steven's request this time, which made a pleasant change.

He settled into bed feeling as content as he had when he'd woken up, slept soundly through the night until his phone awoke him early the next morning. It was Eileen, wanting to know if Declan was ready for his driving test, if she should send some money to help towards a new car for him. Brendan said he had it covered, but it was a surprise, and the topic changed to Paddy, how he was getting on in school, how he wanted to come over for the summer holiday, wanted to spend some time with his brother and dad.

Brendan welcomed the suggestion, loved the idea of having both his boys under his roof. Wondered if by that point he and Steven would have reached a point where they could all spend time together, go out as a unit. Then he wondered when he'd become so sentimental and ridiculous, decided not to share such thoughts with anyone.

Vinnie was nowhere to be seen when he eventually got out of bed, and Brendan didn't worry about it. Either he'd fucked off for good, or he'd be back. There wasn't much he could do about it either way.

He had a lazy day with Declan, took him for a quick driving lesson then played the Xbox with him for a few hours, before Declan had to go meet his girlfriend and Brendan put on the tennis, fell asleep watching it on the couch.

He awoke again to an empty apartment and the prospect of Steven arriving in less than an hour. Jumped in the shower, had a quick scrub, and scowled at his dick as it kept trying to harden, thoughts swimming into his head about what could possibly happen tonight, what experience he could give Steven this time. It wasn't that he expected sex every time he saw him now, but he couldn't control his thoughts, or how his libido responded to them. He was attracted to the guy, and he got hard for him, and there wasn't much he could do about that other than hope Steven felt the same.

Steven arrived at just gone six, looking fresh and smelling good, and Brendan pulled him in for a kiss before he'd fully made it through the front door. Steven laughed into his mouth but clung on, kissed him back and made a little "_Mmm" _noise of urgency as Brendan backed him into a wall and pressed into his body and licked the taste out of his mouth.

He palmed Steven's dick through his trousers and groaned at the feel of it hardening under his touch, curled his fingers around the shape of it and pushed, added pressure, chased Steven's hiss of surprise and pleasure back into his mouth. Steven didn't let him get much further, though: pushed him away and smoothed down his clothes, breathless and laughing and flushed. He looked beautiful, and Brendan's chest clenched at the sight of him.

He'd already pre-booked the cinema tickets so he collected them while Steven wandered over to the confectionary counter, told Brendan a minute later that he couldn't decide between a hotdog, popcorn or nachos, so Brendan got them all, said they could share, balanced everything in one arm like a boss while they waited in line to go through to the screens.

There were teenagers behind and a middle-aged couple in front and when Steven bumped into him to get out of someone's path, Brendan placed his free hand on his back and curled his fingers around his hip and pretended he didn't hear the stifled giggles behind him, winked at Steven in the instant the queue moved forward and they were let through.

The movie was good and held his attention, and he and Steven watched it without incident. Brendan had the fleeting thought of putting an arm around him, or laying a hand on his thigh, or some kind of contact that showed this was a date rather than just two friends on a night out together. But he decided against it and settled into his seat, the closeness of Steven enough, the warmth he could feel radiating from him.

They stopped at a takeaway on the way back to pick up a pizza. Brendan had suggested going to a restaurant but Steven said he just wanted to go home, and Brendan was pretty sure his face had fallen comically.

"Not _home_ home," Steven said, smiling at him in amusement. "I just meant, you know…privacy."

"Oh," said Brendan, and they settled on takeaway pizza, some chicken wings thrown in as well.

Neither Vinnie nor Declan were present when they got back to Brendan's apartment, so they ate on the carpet in the middle of the living room, lounging on cushions and lit only by the glow of the TV. The pizza sat to the side cooling off while they tucked into the chicken wings, some old comedy on the telly that neither were paying attention to. The sauce was sticky and messy and Brendan had it smeared all over his lips within minutes, Steven laughing at him when he noticed.

He grabbed a napkin and wiped his mouth, turned to Steven for inspection. "Am I good?"

"No," said Steven, still laughing. "You've got some—" He pointed to his own mouth, eyes lighting up when Brendan tried to catch the spot with his tongue.

He knew what was going to happen and he played up to it, purposely avoided where he could feel the sauce still clinging to his lips, leaned forward on his elbow to give Steven the encouragement he needed. Steven grinned, eyes glittering, and leaned in, licked across Brendan's bottom lip and sucked a little, stayed there when Brendan parted his lips and chased Steven's tongue into his mouth, gave him a wet, messy kiss. When he pulled back, Steven's eyes had darkened and his smile was sultry and Brendan was only human, couldn't resist that.

He kissed Steven again, got his sticky fingers on the side of Steven's face and pulled him in closer, hummed in contentment as Steven melted under the attention, drifting back until his head rested on a cushion and he was laid out on the floor, an invitation of debauchery.

Brendan no longer cared about the food when he had Steven offering himself up like this, skin warmed and arms by his side, eyes heavy lidded and looking up at Brendan with tentative want.

Brendan lay beside him, propped up on his elbow, gazing down at Steven and watching the TV lights dance in his eyes. "What do you need?" he asked, kept his voice low and soothing. He traced the pad of his thumb along Steven's jawline from chin to ear, then cupped his face, smoothed over his cheekbone.

Steven looked nervous, in a way he hadn't before, a different kind of nervousness that didn't stem from his fear of intimacy. This nervousness spoke of desire, and the lack of confidence to ask for what he wanted. He licked his lips as he looked up at Brendan and Brendan leant down to kiss him again, soothe him.

The kiss was slow, languid, so warm and deep that Brendan was getting drunk on it, intoxicated by the taste of him, the sensation of slick tongue and soft lips and Steven's breathy moans in his mouth as the kiss increased in intensity, as Brendan pushed down on him and Steven arched his back into him and they got lost in the feel of each other.

Brendan lifted his hand from Steven's face and grabbed his hip instead, pulled on it to make Steven roll onto his side so they were pressed together from chest to thigh, Steven's arm coming around him, snaking around his waist, fisting his hand in the back of Brendan's shirt. And Brendan drifted his hand lower from Steven's hip to his thigh, got a good grip on it and tugged it up over his own, shifted his hips forward and got Steven's arse in his hand to pull him in and now their groins were pressed together, both hard and wanting, the kiss stalling as Steven gasped against his mouth.

"You okay?" Brendan muttered to him, and Steven nodded, face so close to Brendan's that he could see every speck of colour in his eyes, every individual eyelash. He kissed him again just as Steven rolled his hips as if he couldn't help himself, and the feel of their cocks grinding together beneath the material made Brendan's head spin and his hand tighten on Steven's arse, fingers digging in bruises, desperate for him.

"Brendan—" Ste whispered, and it sounded like a question, like he was asking permission.

Brendan pressed his hips forward again, shot another bolt of pleasure through his groin, mouthed at Steven's jaw and murmured, "What? Tell me."

Steven didn't answer, head tilted back to give Brendan more room, breath quickening and throat rolling with his nervous swallow.

"Don't be scared," Brendan whispered into his ear. "You can do whatever you want." He pressed in again, just a little bit, wanted Steven to feel how much he desired him. "I'm never gonna turn you away, Steven."

Steven made a small noise, almost like a subdued whimper, and Brendan could _feel_ him gathering courage, could feel it in the tension in the air around them, the way he drew a shaky breath.

"I wanna touch you," he murmured, and Brendan couldn't see his face from his spot pressing kisses into his neck, but he could feel the heat coming off him, the tremble in his skin. "I want to make you come."

Brendan squeezed his eyes shut against the onslaught of what those words did to him, every muscle in his body tensing as his cock jerked and a lightning bolt of anticipation rocketed down his spine to his groin. He pressed his forehead to Steven's shoulder for a moment, took a breath or two, gathered his composure.

"Okay," he said, lifting his face to look Steven in the eye, almost coming undone at the heat he found there. "How d'you—"

"Lay back." Steven pressed on his chest until he rolled onto his back, head on a nearby cushion, Steven crowding over him now, projecting beauty and nervousness and a new confidence, one that made excitement course through Brendan's veins. Brendan stared up at him as if starstruck, had never given control to someone else before like he did for Steven so easily, so frequently; never laid back and let someone else take the lead, dictate how and when he would receive pleasure, no such thing as give and take in his world, not when he craved control so much. But this was Steven now, and he made Brendan feel and react in ways he didn't understand, didn't want to question, so when Steven stared into his face as though searching for something, he could do nothing but lay there and wait, let him decide how this would go.

Steven kissed him as if looking for a distraction, hand moving to the buttons on Brendan's shirt, undoing them quickly, shaking against the skin of Brendan's chest. Brendan took the kiss, felt as though he was being dominated by it, like Steven was making a point to himself. It was thrilling, and it was hot, and once his shirt was open Steven tore his mouth away and was straight on his chest as though pulled by a magnet, licking and sucking across his collarbone until moving down to a nipple, taking it between his teeth and biting, hard. Hard enough that Brendan jerked with it, pressed up into it, let out the kind of groan he usually stifled, electricity shooting down to his dick and making it throb in its confines.

"Steven," he hissed as his other nipple received the same assault, a tongue laving over it now, and he didn't know what he was asking, what he needed, head swimming with the sudden shock of Steven's bold moves. His hands clenched into fists by his sides and his knees came off the floor for an instant because Steven's hand was cutting a path now, tracing down his abs and tickling over the hair beneath his navel and Steven sat up abruptly, eyes focused on his movements, looking lost in determination and lust.

He yanked open Brendan's belt, tugged on the buttons until they popped, muttered, "Lift up," and got his fingers hooked under the waistband, pulled both trousers and boxers down to Brendan's thighs in one swift move.

It was astoundingly sudden, and Brendan was breathless with it, fascinated by the look in Steven's eyes as he glanced up at him and then down at his dick, that raw hunger and newfound power and a glint of steel that told Brendan he was going to take this, and he was going to like it.

He watched with his heart pounding through his chest as Steven licked across his own palm, mouth open and obscene, tongue out, getting his hand good and wet. Then he wrapped that hand around Brendan's dick as though he'd never suffered any issue with sex before, like he _owned_ this, owned Brendan, and he did, right now he did. Brendan would have given him the world on a plate if it meant he would move his hand right now, start stroking him, put him out of his delicious misery as precome already started to form at the tip, seeping through the slit, the vein pulsing through the underside and against Steven's hand.

Steven met his eye for a moment and the look was so intense that it winded Brendan, then he leaned down and licked into Brendan's mouth at the same time as he gave his dick the first tentative stroke from base to head and Brendan was embarrassingly on edge, wouldn't last long while this amped up on Steven's power, needed a distraction.

"Sit on my face," he muttered against Steven's lips, causing Steven's hand to tighten around his dick in reaction. Brendan gritted his teeth against the shock of pleasure, fought to keep control. "C'mon, please, fuck my mouth."

Steven's breath hitched, momentarily frozen, and Brendan took the opportunity to sit up briefly and tug on his trousers. "Get these off," he said urgently, almost begging him, and Steven, in his lust-blown haze, complied. Kicked off his shoes and shifted out of trousers and boxers and Brendan lay back again, arms splayed wide, beckoned Steven over. "Come on, come up." Didn't give Steven time to doubt or question, to lose that burst of confidence he'd found: grabbed him and heaved him up until Steven's thighs settled around his torso and Brendan gripped his arse cheeks and parted them, and an instant later all the tension seemed to rush out of Steven at once as he settled down on Brendan's face, his hole smothering Brendan so deliciously that he groaned against it.

Steven said something above him but Brendan's ears were ringing too much to focus, his senses attacked by the taste of Steven's hole against his tongue and the feel of Steven's thighs trembling against his sides and the pulse of his dick making his gut tighten. He shifted his hips into the air to remind Steven of his desperation and then Steven was leaning forward slightly, giving Brendan a new angle to work his tongue, and then Steven's hand was around his dick again and stroking along its length with an immediate rhythm that made him arch his back into it.

Brendan worked his tongue in through the muscle, pushed against the resistance as it twitched around him, and some kind of primal instinct had Steven grinding against his face to the same speed he was working Brendan's dick, a steady rocking motion against Brendan's mouth as if trying to fuck his tongue. He was making Brendan delirious with it, the pleasure in his dick combined with the thrill of licking Steven's hole open working together to melt his brain and he needed a moment to breathe, lifted Steven's arse away from his face for a moment, bringing his balls close to enough to his mouth that he couldn't resist. Sucked one into his mouth and this time he definitely heard Steven, the expletive that fell from his lips, and Brendan laved his tongue over the sac, soaked the skin and the fine hairs, pressed the tip of his finger into Steven's hole for an instant and used a hand on his hip to angle him up and away a few inches, Steven's dick now hanging in front of his face.

Steven froze in his movements, knew what was coming, and Brendan didn't know which way this was going to go, if he would panic and back off or if he'd go with it. "It's okay," he muttered to him, hands soothing over his hips and thighs, and it sounded pointless, useless, but maybe it was enough because when Brendan took Steven's dick in his hand and pulled it lower to run his tongue along the underside, Steven gasped and pressed down into it, a filthy groan rumbling through his chest as Brendan's tongue made it to the head and he lapped at the precome beaded there.

"Want you to fuck my face," he said again, voice breathless and tight, and Steven's head fell forward against Brendan's thigh, hand now wrapped loose and unmoving around his dick, hot breath bursting across his skin as Steven panted for air, braced himself, let out the tiniest of whimpers as Brendan fed Steven's cock into his mouth and pulled on his hips to lower him down to his throat.

He kept him there for a moment, swallowing around him, nose pressed against his balls, then pushed to get him to back out a few inches before tugging again almost immediately, slurping around the length of him with his tongue, pulling him right in until the head of his dick pressed against the back of his throat.

Steven pulled out on his own this time, almost all the way, far enough that Brendan could dip the tip of his tongue into the slit and lap up the precome, the taste exploding across his senses and making his own dick twitch, hungry for attention. Then Steven pushed in again without any encouragement from Brendan, held himself in Brendan's throat while he struggled to swallow around him, back out again and then in, building a rhythm now, gaining in confidence and need, building up to fuck Brendan's mouth like Brendan wanted, like he so desperately craved. He hummed in pleasure, the sound vibrating through Steven's dick and making him cry out, his hips stuttering and quickening as he shoved back down Brendan's throat, out and in, using Brendan's mouth for his own pleasure and Brendan couldn't be any more turned on by it if he tried.

He reached down to feel for his own dick and the movement jolted Steven into action. He slapped away Brendan's hand and resumed stroking him, his rhythm matching his hips fucking Brendan's mouth, and Brendan groaned and rolled his spine against the floor, his toes curling as Steven's thrusts over his tongue increased, as the head of his cock battered the back of his throat and made him want to scream with how good it felt, how overcome he was with absolute bliss.

Then something warm and wet laved across the head of Brendan's dick, making his whole body jerk, his gut clench, and the instant he realised it was Steven's tongue he almost fell apart, the attack on his senses too intense, too much, too overpowering. Steven was working his dick like he was fucking his mouth and now his tongue was over him and the ghost of lips around the head and Brendan came without warning, couldn't stop it, hips jerking up off the floor and ecstasy flooding his body so powerfully that it took him a moment to realise he was coming into Steven's mouth, his tongue catching the spunk and lips sucking and he groaned deep in his chest with the intensity of it all, the way it took over his whole body.

Brendan's reaction seemed to hit Steven where it mattered because he cried out and lifted up onto his arms and started thrusting into Brendan's mouth like he was desperate for release, chasing it, stuttering, "I'm gonna—" and trying to pull away but Brendan wouldn't let him, got both hands on his hips and yanked him down because he wanted Steven to come down his throat, wanted to feel used and ruined by it.

The taste exploded across the back of his tongue and he swallowed convulsively, had his air blocked as Steven shoved right in, muscles in his thighs going tight in his effort to stay there, pulsing spunk down Brendan's throat and gasping out cries and body spasming with the onslaught.

By the time he pulled out, Brendan's throat was raw and his lips were swollen and he'd never felt so thoroughly abused in his life. He lay there panting for air while Steven shifted around on shaky hands and knees to face him, lean over him, kiss him, sharing each other's taste and hearts pounding together. In his delirium of pleasure, Brendan craved down to his bone the feel of Steven's skin against his own, was sick to death of material between them, one godforsaken T-shirt after another. Hooked his fingers around the hem of Steven's T-shirt and pulled it up, took a moment to realise Steven was fighting him while still kissing him, tugging the shirt back down, resisting.

"C'mon, take it off," Brendan muttered against his mouth, so desperate to hold him naked against his skin, no barriers between them, didn't care about anything but the feel of him. Pulled on the material again, tried to lift it, eyes peeling open in a daze as Steven struggled against him and whispered, "No," sitting up and away and out of reach.

Realisation flooded Brendan, quickly followed by guilt, although all of it was overpowered by frustration. He didn't _care_ about what Steven had under his clothes, what he thought he looked like, what he thought Brendan would make of it. All he wanted was Steven, all of him, nothing covering him and hiding him, nothing keeping them apart.

Steven's eyes were haunted and his face was flushed and he was tugging his T-shirt down further than it could go, stretching it, as though not only trying to hide his back now, but all of him.

"Steven," Brendan said, pushing up onto his elbows, still struggling to breathe normally. "I know about your back, I don't care—"

Steven looked up at him in absolute alarm, his entire body freezing, colour washing out of his face so quickly Brendan panicked. "What—how do you—"

Brendan swallowed, wished he'd never admitted it, too late now to go back. "I saw it one night when you were asleep and I just—I just had a look—"

"You _had a look_?" Steven sprung to his feet, leaving Brendan astounded at how quickly he'd gained control of his body. Brendan still felt melted into the floor. "What makes you think you've got the right to _look_?" He was yanking on his boxers and trousers so rapidly it was a wonder they didn't tear at the seams, his face a picture of horror and rage.

"Steven—Steven, stop." Brendan reached out a hand, tried to sit up. "Look, I don't _mind_."

The look Steven shot him then said he'd uttered the wrong words and he winced, scrubbed a hand over his face in frustration. "Look, if you just stop for a second—"

"I have to go." He already had his shoes on, grabbed his jacket off the arm of the couch, heading for the door before Brendan had time to blink, let alone realise he was far too naked to chase after him into the street.

"Don't you dare walk away from me again—"

But of course he was already gone, leaving Brendan alone and half naked, buzzing from an intense orgasm and frustration seeping into his bones, cold and untouched pizza sitting sorrowfully by his side.


	10. Chapter 10

**AN: A smaller update after the novel of the previous one. Didn't want to fatigue you all lol.**

::: :::

It wasn't until Brendan heard a key go in the lock that he thought to move. He'd been sitting there in a daze, his mind completely blank. Shock, he presumed, that he could have been so monumentally stupid. Fucked up so badly. The one thing Steven was so obviously terrified of, and Brendan had wrenched it into the open with all the grace of a gorilla on ice.

It took him half a second to realise he was mostly half naked, everything on display, and that Declan was about to walk into the room and witness his father's indignity. He jumped to his feet, wincing as his back popped with the movement, and yanked his trousers and boxers back up, secured his belt just as Declan entered, freezing in the doorway.

"Uh," he said.

Brendan scrubbed a hand through his hair and sighed. "Don't ask." He stepped over the pizza box and headed to the kitchen. "Leave all that, I'll clean it up," he said in passing, then went to drink half the tap's supply of water. His throat was still raw from the beating it had received from Steven's cock, and he wished he could bask in the feeling of it now, how the rough scrape of it was evidence of his time with Steven, time spent ruining each other in the most exquisite way.

But all he had now was the memory of it tainted by his own screw up, the knowledge that he might have just destroyed the best thing that had ever happened to him.

He grabbed his phone in frustration and called him, but his phone was off, went straight to voicemail. "Steven, listen," he began, but he could think of nothing to say, nothing worthwhile, nothing that would sound like anything more than empty platitudes. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean—" Anger was boiling in his gut, anger at himself. "Just call me. Please." He hung up, feeling like the worst kind of useless.

He left the kitchen and ignored the mess of the living room, called, "Declan!" as he slung on his jacket and checked his pocket for keys.

"What?" yelled Declan from his room.

Brendan sighed again, his throat too sore to yell messages across the apartment. He went to Declan's room and opened the door, found him sat at his computer. "I'm going out for a bit."

"Okay," said Declan, frowning. Brendan hadn't looked at himself in a mirror, and he was vaguely worried Declan could tell just by looking at him the filthy things he'd been doing not thirty minutes earlier. Awkward.

"Vinnie might be back," he said. "I dunno. Just—just let him in." He didn't have time to deal with Vinnie now, was aware he was letting him get away with it, walking over his threats. It didn't matter right now. It was the least of his concerns.

Declan huffed and rolled his eyes. "Fine, whatever."

Brendan nodded and left, not much more to say, mind too focused on getting to Steven, on sorting this out.

He didn't know what he would do if he couldn't find a way back from this.

::: :::

Ste went to Doug's. He wasn't entirely sure why. He'd intended to go home, but he'd turned right instead of left, and a few minutes later he'd found himself pulling up outside's Doug's little house.

He doubted Brendan would go to the flat looking for him, not now he knew what Ste carried with him beneath his clothes. No man would want to wake up next to that, not when he could do so much better.

But he didn't want to take the risk of facing Brendan tonight, and Doug was the only person Ste had. And Doug was familiarity, and he was comfort, and he hadn't ever left Ste's side no matter how ugly he was, how much his body had been destroyed.

He felt numb, unable to dredge up any kind of emotion. To make it worse, he had a cold coming on—could feel it in the itching of his nose, the throbbing behind his eyes. He didn't know if it was the oncoming cold or his most recent orgasm that was making his body heavy, his limbs stiff as he crossed the street to Doug's front door. Or maybe it was the numbness, the painfully familiar lack of any emotion. He knew this feeling well, this feeling of nothing. It had served him well for the past two years. Only this time it wasn't pills doing it to him, it wasn't chemicals.

It was the knowledge that Brendan had seen the truth of him, the ugly, twisted truth. And that there couldn't be any possible way he'd want to have that in his life for much longer.

Doug's face was a picture of surprise when he answered the door, and he looked half asleep. Ste had awoken him, and he would feel guilty, if he could feel anything right now.

"Ste—"

Only he wasn't numb, not like before. He was just blocking it. And seeing Doug released the dam and he fell forward onto Doug's chest, buried his face in Doug's shoulder, withstood the wash of pain that flooded through him all at once.

"Hey," said Doug, placing a gentle hand on Ste's back. "What happened?"

Ste took a shuddery breath and lifted away, wanted to cry but didn't. He was already weak enough; there was no need for Doug to see more of it.

"Nothing, I just—" He rubbed a hand over his forehead, at the headache developing there. A cold was the last thing he needed right now, but what was another layer of misery? "Can I stay here tonight?"

Doug searched his eyes, and Ste prayed for silence. Didn't want the questions, the accusations, the _I told you so_ and _you should've listened to me_. Doug had every right to say it all, but Ste didn't want to hear it, not right now.

Doug seemed to understand. Because he knew Ste, and he was a good friend, and right now he was the only good thing Ste had to hold on to.

"Yeah, sure, come in."

And Ste went in, and he closed the door on the world, and just for tonight he could forget it ever existed. That there was a man he'd come to need more than he ever thought possible, a man he'd now surely lost.

::: :::

Steven wasn't home. The flat was dark and locked up tight, and there was only one other place Brendan thought he could be. He grabbed his phone.

"Mitzeee," he said, trying to block out the sound of the bar's activities in the background. "Go into the membership records and give me the address of Douglas Carter."

There was a pause, and then: "Eh?"

"Just do it," Brendan snapped. "Call me when you've got it."

He hung up the phone and went back to his car, climbed in and rested his forehead against the steering wheel. He couldn't believe it had come to this, chasing Steven around town, desperate to make things right—not after the evening they'd shared, how perfect everything had been.

Mitzeee called him back and he almost broke his phone in his haste to answer. She gave him the address, her tone hesitant, made him promise he wouldn't do anything stupid. He hung up before she could finish warning him and headed off for Douglas' place, nothing in his mind except the need to _fix it_, before it was too late.

It took Douglas a minute to answer when he knocked, his face like stone as he pulled the door open.

"Brendan."

"Is he here?" Brendan asked, in no mood for bullshit. He looked past Douglas, at the empty room behind him. No Steven. Not even a sign of him. Everything was switched off, shrouded in darkness. Douglas had obviously been in bed. Brendan's stomach dropped.

"Who?"

He sighed, but he already knew this was pointless. "You know who."

Douglas narrowed his eyes. "What have you done to him?"

"Nothing, just—" He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, frustration clawing up his insides. "If he shows up, just get him to call me, yeah?" Although he knew he wouldn't.

He walked away, had no other option but to go home and wait. Wait for a phone call, or wait for morning, when he could begin this whole search again.

"If he doesn't want you to find him," Douglas called after him, his tone like ice, "then maybe you should take the hint."

Brendan closed his eyes for a moment before continuing to his car, refusing to turn around and take the bait. He didn't need to get into a fight with Douglas now. The kid was irrelevant.

Steven was the only thing that mattered.

::: :::

Ste woke up the following morning feeling like death. His head was throbbing, his chest rattling, his throat scratched raw. This wasn't just a cold; it was the cold from hell.

"Jesus," Doug said, coming over to the couch and peering down at him. "You look like shit."

"Thanks," Ste croaked. He felt so ill that it almost smothered all his pain from the night before.

It hadn't been easy, hiding in the shadows when Brendan had come calling. Everything in him had been screaming out for Brendan, his instincts working to get him to step out and see him, talk to him, find out what Brendan thought of it all now, thought of _him_. But he hadn't had the courage, and so he'd hidden, and then Brendan had left, and Ste had brushed away all of Doug's questions until he'd been left alone to sleep on the couch.

The rational side of his brain kept telling him that Brendan had been aware of the scars for days at least, and he'd still slept with Ste, still used all his energy to make Ste feel amazing, as if it was all that mattered.

But the other side of his brain, the more powerful side, the side that had ruled his life for so long now—that side told him he was an idiot, and of course Brendan wouldn't still want him, and if he ever saw his back in the light, saw it in all its hideous glory, he'd be out of Ste's life like a shot. Men like Brendan Brady did not settle for anything less than perfection, and Ste was as far from perfect as it was possible to be.

He swallowed away the lump in his throat and sat up.

"Listen, take the day off," Doug said, pottering around the room, gathering his folders and files for the day. "Sleep it off. I'll call in at lunchtime to check on you."

"I'm going home," Ste mumbled, because he needed a shower, and he needed his pills, and he needed his own space.

"Then I'll call in at yours," Doug said. He was looking at Ste in concern, and Ste knew it was less to do with his cold, and more to do with why he'd turned up hiding from Brendan Brady.

He'd have to explain at some point, but not now. Fortunately Doug was smart enough to know when to keep quiet.

He left Ste alone a while later with a cup of tea and some aspirin. Ste was glad for the peace. He hadn't forgotten his anger at Doug, what he'd overheard in his living room on Friday. But it seemed unimportant now, and besides, Doug had been right. Doug was always right.

Ste went home after an hour or so of half-dying on Doug's couch, took his pills and had his shower, then collapsed on his own couch under a blanket, mindless daytime TV set on low volume to fill the space, stop him from thinking so much.

His door knocked around lunchtime, as promised, and Ste didn't have even an ounce of enough energy to get up.

"Spare key's under the plant," he called, and then almost hacked up a lung with the exertion.

When he looked up, eyes watering, it was to find Brendan stood in his living room.

"You shouldn't reveal where you hide your spare key to strangers at the door."

"It wasn't a stranger," Ste said, all thoughts completely escaping his brain and leaving him dumb. "It was Doug."

Brendan raised an eyebrow. "Clearly it wasn't."

"You know what I mean," Ste huffed.

He couldn't believe Brendan was stood here, in his living room, as if last night hadn't happened. Couldn't believe he was still making the effort to see him. Ste was about to ask what he wanted, needing to get this over with as quickly as possible, but Brendan was frowning at him and suddenly he realised how terrible he looked, his cold making his eyes red and his face gross and his whole being just generally unappealing and horrible. He blushed.

"Are you—" said Brendan, still frowning, looking hugely uncomfortable. Ste didn't blame him. "Have you been crying?"

"Oh get over yourself," Ste muttered, skin heating up a little more. All he wanted to do was lift the blanket up and hide himself under it, but he was meant to be a man, and men faced up to these situations. Although what the situation was, he hadn't figured out yet. "I've got a cold."

"Oh." Brendan looked blindsided by this information, as if the wind had been knocked out of him. He didn't know what Brendan had come here to say, but he'd obviously worked out that this wasn't the time for it, not when Ste was so clearly dying and hardly able to focus on anything. "Will I—do you want some soup or something?"

"No I don't want any bloody soup." He didn't know why he was snapping, or what he was even angry about. All he knew was that he had the painful, overwhelming feeling that things had gone irreversibly wrong, and he needed a clearer head to deal with it.

"All right, fine. Calm the fuck down. Jesus." Brendan paced a little, shifted forward a few steps and then back, scrubbed a hand over his face. "Look, we need to talk—"

"Not now," Ste groaned, trying to hold up a hand and failing. "I can't deal with you right now."

He was aware he'd said the wrong thing, but he didn't care. Brendan was going to hurt him in the long run; what were a few careless words in return?

"Right." Brendan looked conflicted. "How long do you need?"

"Dunno," said Ste, shrugging. "Couple of days."

"Okay, so Wednesday." Brendan nodded, looked as though he was convincing himself of something. "I'll come back Wednesday."

"Whatever," mumbled Ste.

Brendan turned to leave, but something compelled Ste to speak, some awareness creeping into his brain and making that pain set in around his heart once again.

"Consider it your get-out clause," he said, his voice hollow, and when Brendan looked back at him, he added, "I won't think bad of you if you don't show up here on Wednesday. I'll understand."

Anger flooded into Brendan's eyes, making Ste hold his breath. "You already think bad enough of me if you've got the idea that I'd—" He stopped, teeth snapping together.

"What?" Ste was desperate to hear the end of that sentence.

"Nothing." Brendan's voice was tight, and he hesitated there, looked as though he didn't know if he should come or go, keep quiet or speak his mind. Eventually he said, "Just get yourself better. Call me if you need anything."

Then he left, leaving Ste alone to try to work out what he'd meant.

::: :::

Ste did get himself better, but it was a slow process. By that evening his headache had cleared a little, and he kept looking at the clock, painfully aware that Brendan would be at his family meal now, the meal he was supposed to attend—as if he belonged there in that world, in Brendan's family, when he so obviously didn't.

He'd had his chance, and he'd been doing so well, and the only thing to bring it all crashing to the ground was the one thing he could do nothing about.

He ate food Doug had brought him and he drank tea by the gallon, tried to distract himself with TV and games on his phone and counting his sneezes, but it was no use: by Tuesday morning, he couldn't deny he was missing Brendan, that all he wanted was for him to walk back into his home, into his arms, and tell him it was okay, that none of it mattered.

He called Doug that morning to say he still wasn't feeling great, and he needed another couple of days at home to recuperate. He couldn't take a cold into a food preparation unit and Doug knew it, and he agreed. Ste spent the day doing nothing at all, consumed by memories of Brendan and what it could all mean for the future, if there was any kind of future available for them.

Brendan hadn't run away; in fact, he'd made the effort to track Ste down not once, but twice, since the incident. That had to mean something. If nothing else, it had to prove that Brendan wasn't going to be turned away by the sight of Ste's body, at least not completely. Maybe there was a possibility they could work through it, and by the Wednesday morning Ste was buoyed by a new confidence, the possibility that it might not all be over, that there was a chance.

He itched for Brendan all day. Knowing he was coming over had his mind on a constant loop of memories, the best memories—when they were in bed together, or on a floor, or in the car. When they touched and kissed and brought each other to orgasm. Ste had never had it like this with another man, even before everything went wrong two years ago. He's never been so addicted, so enraptured, so deeply hooked on the feel of another person, on what that person could do to him, the emotions he could pour into his skin.

He wanted Brendan so much he could barely breathe with it, and he was desperate for his door to knock, for the man to arrive and tell him they could do this, they could work it out, they could pull each other apart and be stronger for it.

Only dinnertime came with no Brendan, and hours passed with no Brendan, and Wednesday midnight tipped into Thursday morning with no Brendan, and Ste realised Brendan had taken his get-out clause, and he lived in a fantasy land, because who would want him, really?

No one, not even Brendan.

::: :::

Brendan was beyond frustrated. Everything that could have possibly gone wrong, had done so tonight. Taps had broken, pumps had burst; customers had got into fights, money had gone missing, Mitzeee had disappeared and reappeared at intervals. It had gone midnight, and he was only just arriving at Steven's.

He'd planned to spend the whole evening here, not miss the evening altogether.

Steven looked surprised when he opened the door, shocked to find Brendan on the other side of it. It made Brendan feel a weird sort of pain in his chest, that Steven was so unsure of him, of _them_. That he would even consider that Brendan could vanish from his life, just because he perceived himself as imperfect, when in reality he was the most beautiful thing in Brendan's world.

"You came back then." His words were hard, but there was an underlying vulnerability to them, a fear that just because Brendan had come back, it didn't mean he had come back to _him_.

"Did you doubt it?"

"Yes," Steven said without hesitation, so painfully honest.

And Brendan could think of nothing to say except, "Then you're an idiot."

They stared at each other, Brendan still on the outside, Steven inside with his hand on the door, as if not quite committed to Brendan's arrival back in his life.

The sight of Steven after all these days, looking so fresh and perfect and golden, made arousal grow steadily within Brendan, hardening his cock, and he worried it was inappropriate in this moment, and then he worried that he was losing his mind—because it had only been two days since he'd last seen Steven, three days since he'd last touched him, and yet it felt like a lifetime of wasteland, of useless moments without Steven by his side and on him and around him. He could no longer go a day without experiencing this boy and he was the worst kind of addict, skin itching with the craving, veins burning with the withdrawal.

He stepped over the threshold of the doorway and Steven didn't step back, didn't move away. He stayed where he was, looking up at Brendan even when they came within inches of each other, and any concern Brendan had about his inappropriate arousal was swept away by the look of pure need in Steven's eyes. Because Steven had also gone three days without Brendan's touch, and he looked as though it was all hitting him at once now, standing this close to Brendan, nothing but air and heat between them.

"Are you sure this is where you want to be?" Steven asked him, low and dark, and his lips were parted, warm breath stuttering past them; a challenge in his words blended with doubt—doubt that Brendan wouldn't want him anymore, doubt that he couldn't have what he so obviously needed right now. Brendan wasn't the only addict in this moment, and it sent a burning thrill of dangerous excitement through his gut.

Steven didn't need Brendan to tell him he wanted him. He needed to be shown, completely and unequivocally. No room for confusion or doubt, no option to misinterpret useless words and meaningless statements. Brendan could say more with his body than he could with his mouth and right now he wanted to crawl up inside Steven and speak directly to the heart of him.

"Yes," he said in the instant before he got a hand on the back of Steven's head and pulled him in.

Steven let out the purest of whimpers before their lips met in a clash of greed and hunger. Lips parted wide, slick tongues battling for control, and they were both groaning into it as though trying to sate starvation, devouring each other, the most brutal kiss Brendan had ever experienced and he wanted to get deeper even as Steven grasped his face in both hands and yanked him closer until their lips were bruising, and there was no room for air, and Brendan had never felt so twisted up by a kiss before in his life.

He pushed Steven without breaking the kiss, shoved him backwards until they were almost tripping over each other's feet and Steven's back met the wall opposite, Brendan's hand there to brace the impact, save him from any pain. The sudden contact made Steven grunt into his mouth and he was immediately lifting a thigh to Brendan's hip, hooking his foot behind Brendan's knee to pull him in closer, and now their groins were pressed together, their cocks separated only by cotton and jeans, the hardness against Brendan's dick throbbing and thrusting and this would do, this would work for now, and he started shoving his hips up against Steven's so their cocks rubbed together, desperate and hot.

"Stupid," he muttered against Steven's lips, getting a hand tangled in his hair and yanking his head back, exposing his throat. "Stupid to think it would make any difference to me."

Steven was gasping, whining low in his throat as Brendan licked a path up the side of his neck, sucked the skin over the pulse point. "It's disgusting," he said, panting, breathless. "It makes me ugly."

"No." Brendan pressed the word into his skin, hips working harder, pleasure building in his gut and through the base of his spine, Steven's hands settling on his hips and yanking him closer, closer still, rocking together and moaning. "Nothing could."

"I don't understand how you can still want me-"

"Shut up," Brendan hissed, lifting his head to grip Steven's face in both hands, look him directly in his lust-blown eyes, wanted to make him _see_, for Christ's sake, to realise how much he was in Brendan's blood now, hooked deep in his skin. "Just shut up. I never have enough of you."

He punctuated his statement by making his point—ground his dick so roughly against Steven's that he cried out, fucked his hips into the space between them, dicks throbbing together, scraping against material and the hardness of each other. He moaned as Brendan hooked both thumbs into his mouth and pulled his mouth open wide, wider, went in with his tongue and ate at him as if he could meld them together this way, kiss him so deeply and obscenely that they'd never part again.

Their hips quickened, thrusts picking up speed, and Steven was grunting into his mouth on each thrust now, sweat breaking out on his skin and hands clawing at Brendan's back, fisting in his jacket and trying to pull him still closer, as if they could crawl inside each other. Then Brendan got hold of his arms and yanked them up above his head, pinned his wrists to the wall with one hand and wrapped his other around Steven's throat, loose but firm, held him in place and stared him in the eye as they shared panted breaths, fucked his hips in rough and deep and caught Steven's bottom lip between his teeth in the instant before his orgasm rocketed through his body and he dropped his face forward, smashed his cheek against Steven's, groaned his ecstasy into Steven's ear, Steven's high moans of absolute pleasure washing over him.

They came down together in increments, trembles easing and breaths smoothing out. Brendan released Steven's wrists from the wall and Steven lowered his leg back to the floor and they stayed resting against each other for a long minute, breathing into the silence, holding on together.

Then Steven laughed suddenly, quiet and breathy in his ear. "Front door's still open."

Brendan gathered the energy to pull back and look over his shoulder. "Oops," he said, grinning. He hoped someone got a good show, had witnessed this explosive passion he could hardly believe existed between them.

He looked back at Steven to find him smiling softly, and he stroked a thumb over his perfect cheekbone. "You good?"

Steven looked as if he was considering it. "Yeah," he said, tone implying surprise and conviction. "Yeah, I am."

"Good." He gave Steven a gentle kiss, mindful of his swollen lips after the battering he'd given them before. "What now?" he asked, pulling away, because he knew they still had to talk, had to work some things out.

"Actually I was hoping we could just go to bed. To sleep," Steven added, when Brendan raised his eyebrows. "I'm still not feeling hundred percent."

"Oh great," said Brendan. "Does that mean I'm gonna get a cold now?"

"Probably," Steven said, giggling. Brendan figured it was worth it.

He sent Steven off to bed while he closed and locked the door, made a quick phone call to Warren. "Need you to stay at my place tonight," he said to him, wandering around and switching off lights, the TV. "Keep an eye on Vinnie."

Warren's voice was sly and teasing. "You dirty stop-out."

"Fuck off," said Brendan, laughing despite himself. "Tell Declan I'll see him in the morning. And don't you dare spunk on my sheets."

He used the bathroom before heading to the bedroom, found Steven already in bed, wearing his ever-present T-shirt. He wondered how long it would take for Steven to take it off in his presence, if he ever would. Brendan couldn't imagine maintaining an entire relationship in which he never got to see the other person naked, but neither could he tell Steven what to do, how to feel about it.

He stripped down to his boxers and slipped in beside him, lifted an arm in invitation. Steven shifted over immediately, curled into Brendan's side, hand on his chest over his heart.

They laid in silence for a while, Brendan staring up at the ceiling and Steven breathing gently beside him. Eventually he said, because he couldn't go to sleep with the giant elephant in the room, "I'm sorry."

Steven startled slightly, unprepared for Brendan to speak, and Brendan wondered if he'd been dozing off. "For what?" he mumbled.

Brendan swallowed, considered his response. "For looking. Without you knowing." Steven said nothing; he'd gone alarmingly still. Brendan added, "And for the way I handled it the other night," and tightened his arm around him, tried to show how sorry he was in other ways, because his words had always been useless.

"I don't want to talk about it," Steven eventually said, his words hard, guarded. "Can we just sleep?"

They'd not resolved anything. They'd proven that they still wanted each other, and that they could still fuck the walls down of any building, but they'd not reached any kind of resolution. Steven was still caged, still closed off when it came to anything to do with his back. And Brendan was still scrambling around for ways to make him feel comfortable, to make him realise nothing was going to make him walk away.

"Can you tell me what happened?" he tried, because even if Steven couldn't show him his injuries, couldn't talk about them, perhaps he could talk about how they'd come to be.

"No." He sighed, drew circles with his finger on Brendan's chest. "I have a memory block. I don't remember any of it."

Brendan felt pain for him, couldn't imagine what that was like, experiencing something so horrific that your brain closed down around it, blocked it off so you never had to suffer the memory, relive it. It must've been horrendous, and he couldn't even begin to imagine what this boy had been through, what he'd had to suffer when Brendan hadn't been there to protect him.

"Nothing at all?"

Steven shook his head against Brendan's shoulder. "Only what they've told me."

He didn't know who _they_ were, wanted to find out regardless. Douglas, he reckoned, and maybe—

"A therapist?"

"Yeah," said Steven. "I don't see her anymore though. Wasn't helping."

"Do you—"

"Brendan," said Steven, and then he sighed. "I'm really tired. Can we just leave it for now?"

It was an excuse, an avoidance tactic, but Brendan didn't mind. There would be plenty of time to find out the truth, because he wasn't going anywhere, not anytime soon. "Okay," he said, and kissed the top of Steven's head. "Get some sleep."

He laid awake long after Steven had drifted off, fingers brushing over the skin of Steven's arm, mind working and working until he hurt with it, could keep his eyes open no longer.

::: :::

Ste awoke early, his back itching like crazy. He needed a pill, but today was his cream day, and if he didn't get it on soon, he was going to start scratching himself raw.

He peeled away from Brendan slowly, carefully. He'd been plastered all along Brendan's back, his skin like a furnace, and he didn't want to leave the comfort of both him and his bed but if he just got it done quickly, slapped the cream on and took his pills, then he could crawl back into bed without Brendan noticing, sleep the morning away with this man who looked so inviting, lying there in a deep, welcoming sleep.

He tiptoed to the bathroom and took care of business swiftly before washing his hands and removing his T-shirt, reached up to the top shelf for the cream. A shiver worked down his spine, made him glance up at the mirror, and a red-hot rush of panic exploded within him so suddenly that it knocked the breath out of him.

Brendan was standing in the doorway, watching him.

The walls were closing in, and his ears were ringing, and his hands were shaking, and he didn't know what to do, couldn't focus. Couldn't see anything except Brendan's eyes locked on his through the mirror, and then how his gaze flicked down, travelled across Ste's back, taking it all in, here in this punishing light where every disgusting inch of it would be blazing in stark relief against the washed-out white of his bathroom.

In his haste to grab his T-shirt, he dropped the tub of cream into the sink, some of its contents spilling out onto porcelain. But he didn't care about the mess, didn't care about anything other than getting his T-shirt on, covering up, hiding away. And it was too late; it was too late because Brendan had seen it, clearly and without disguise, without the camouflaging aid of low lighting or material.

All of it. He could see it all.

It wasn't until a hand closed around his wrist that he realised Brendan had approached him from behind, silent and too close, the heat of him ghosting over Ste's back and he didn't want him near this, didn't want him to have to deal with the ugliness of what Ste had tried so hard to hide from him all this time.

But he had no time to pull away or speak, because Brendan was taking the T-shirt from his slack fingers and dropping it to the side, and then he was reaching around Ste to pick up the half-spilled tub of cream from the sink, and when Ste looked in the mirror again it was to find Brendan not looking at him, but down at the cream, reading the label.

"This goes on your back?" he asked, his voice quiet but echoing in this small room. There was no hint of anything in his tone; it was just a simple question, and Ste found himself answering it through the frozen swell in his throat.

"Yes."

Brendan said nothing in response. He met Ste's gaze in the mirror again, his eyes oddly blank, as though purposely avoiding any kind of reaction that Ste could interpret. Then he looked back down at the cream, and Ste couldn't see what he was doing, but a moment later the touch of wet fingers grazed over the back of his left shoulder and he breathed out, and he tensed up, and he stared at Brendan to get an idea of his thoughts but there was nothing there—just focus on Ste's back, eyebrows slightly drawn together as though in concentration, wanting to get it right.

Ste let him. Couldn't move now if paid to. Brendan's hand glided across his shoulders and the nape of his neck and already it felt good—it always felt good, but it was better coming from Brendan's touch somehow, better than when Doug did it, or he tried to do it himself. Brendan's touch was light but confident, rubbing in circular motions, using his thumb to push the cream in against the raised ridges, the dents and valleys.

He got more cream on his hand and moved farther down Ste's back, and he didn't say anything, and his face gave nothing away, but when he glanced up briefly as though feeling Ste's attention on him so intently through the mirror, his eyes were warm, his eyebrows lifting as if to say, "What?" before he looked back down at his task and continued, rubbing in the cream and massaging Ste's back in the process, every inch of it, for so long that Ste lost time and his bones were melting beneath the touch, holding on to the edge of the sink to keep upright as Brendan pushed soothing sensation into his skin.

By the time Brendan finished, Ste's eyes were shut and his head was hanging low, breathing shallow and mind swimming pleasantly. He'd forgotten to be scared of Brendan's reaction, and he'd forgotten to panic about being exposed, and he didn't open his eyes again until he heard the snap of the lid on the cream and then felt the soft, warm press of lips against the back of his neck, just above the first line of cream, the top ridges of his scars. He breathed out a shaky breath and looked up.

"Come on," Brendan murmured, hands on Ste's hips and thumbs caressing against the bone there. "Let's go get some breakfast."

Ste tipped his head back against Brendan's shoulder and met him for a kiss, morning breath be damned. He couldn't put into words what he was feeling right now, but it was powerful, and it was intense, and it was filling every corner and crevice of his body and making him want to speak, to say something significant, about how Brendan had just changed everything. How one simple gesture had altered the very structure of Ste's core, rearranged the foundations of his entire world. It was so monumental that he was breathless with it, but he couldn't put it into words, and he didn't think Brendan would understand anyway, and so he kissed him instead. Then Brendan moved to glide his lips along the side of Ste's neck, and he wrapped an arm around him to pull him back, and now the raw exposure of Ste's scars were pressed against the bare skin of Brendan's torso from shoulder to hip and it had been so long, and it was like nothing he'd ever felt, and emotion was swelling within him so rapidly that he couldn't contain it, a single, solitary tear slipping from his eye without cause or permission. Brendan was watching him in the mirror, and he reached up to brush the tear away with his thumb without comment, and then he was wrapping both arms tight around him and pulling him right into his body, smothering him and surrounding him, claustrophobic and so warm that Ste felt precious in that moment, cherished, like there was nothing wrong with him at all, nothing to be ashamed of, nothing that Brendan didn't want.

When Brendan smiled at him in the mirror, he smiled back, and it didn't matter that there was a layer of horror between them now because Brendan was pressing his own skin onto it like he wanted to imprint it on himself—not take it away, but make it a part of them both.


	11. Chapter 11

They'd been stood here kissing for what felt like forever. Here in Ste's front doorway, when Brendan had already said he needed to go, that he had to make sure Declan got to college, and Warren hadn't killed Vinnie in the night. But he didn't seem to be in a rush. He had an arm around Ste's waist and he was cupping Ste's face with his other hand and they were making out like a couple of teenagers in the back row of a cinema.

It was intoxicating, and Ste was full of lightness, like he could float up into the clouds if he wasn't anchored down now by Brendan's arms and their lips clinging, tongues and breathy sighs and the exhilarating feeling that maybe Brendan would quite like to stay here for the rest of eternity, if Ste let him.

And he was inclined to let him, because this felt insanely good, nothing but kissing his boyfriend, deep and thorough and overpowering.

His _boyfriend_.

He pulled away suddenly, blinking in the early morning light that hit his eyes as he opened them.

"Are you my boyfriend?"

Brendan looked half dazed by all the kissing, half confused about why it had ended so abruptly. His lips were slick and swollen and red, his eyes heavy, his thumb caressing over Ste's cheekbone like he couldn't stop touching him.

His eyebrows knitted together. "What?"

"My boyfriend," Ste repeated, flexing his fingers on Brendan's hips.

Brendan blinked at him. "Uh…"

"I mean, I know we talked about not sleeping with anyone else, but…"

"I don't—" He cleared his throat, his hand lifting from Ste's face to rub his own brow. "If you need a label—"

Ste frowned. That wasn't really the response he'd been hoping for. "I don't need a label," he said, peeling away from Brendan and taking a step back into his hall, out of the sunlight. "I just—it would be nice to know where we stand now. You know, after everything."

After he'd already let Brendan in so much, and not just physically. After he'd exposed himself to this man, the one part of himself he'd sworn never to show another person. Opened the door of his demons to Brendan's inspection, without the safety net of knowing how it would all turn out.

And after everything Brendan had done for him, it seemed right to Ste that he should let him know he was in this for real. He wasn't just messing around or passing time.

Apparently Brendan didn't share the same idea, though, judging by the look of discomfort on his face. "Listen, Steven—"

"It's fine," Ste said quickly, because he already knew what was coming and he didn't want to face the sting of rejection. "Forget I said anything. I'll see you later, okay?"

He made to close the door, but Brendan's arm shot out, preventing it. He was wearing a smile now, his eyes bright, leaving Ste confused and unsure.

"You really need to work on this whole not-walking-away-from-me thing," Brendan said dryly. He took a step forward, over the threshold of the doorway and into Ste's hall. "It's starting to become a real problem."

"Sorry, I just—" He couldn't think how to end the sentence, too distracted by the predatory gleam in Brendan's eyes as he crowded in close, making Ste back up until he hit the wall behind. He couldn't help the smile. "Thought you had to leave?"

"I can give you another five minutes," Brendan murmured, coming in close. Not quite touching—hands pressed to the wall on either side of Ste's shoulders, bracketing him, the warmth of his body tantalisingly close.

Ste huffed a laugh. "I'm honoured."

"Hmm," purred Brendan in the instant before he pressed in for another kiss, a kiss that felt different this time.

This kiss had intent, and heat rushed down to Ste's groin.

"I don't care what label you want to use," Brendan muttered against his mouth, nipping his bottom lip before swiping his tongue over it. He moved on to Ste's neck, a sucking kiss low at the juncture of Ste's shoulder before moving up, tongue gliding over his pulse point. "But we're in this together now, you and me. There won't be anyone else. And when other pretty young things like you try it on," he breathed into Ste's ear, lifting one hand from the wall to curl around the side of his neck, pull him closer, "I'll be telling them no"—he moved back to Ste's mouth, whispered against his lips—"because I already belong to someone else."

It was more than the simple _yes_ he'd been hoping for when he first asked the question, so much more, and Ste accepted the next devouring kiss with enthusiasm, let Brendan hear the pleasure swelling in him by letting out a soft moan as Brendan licked into his mouth, pushed their hips together.

"Question we need to ask ourselves now, though," Brendan murmured against his mouth when the kiss broke, hands shifting down to Ste's waist, slipping under his t-shirt, fingers splaying over the small of his back, his scars, "is how much I can make you come apart in the next five minutes."

Ste rolled his eyes even as his heartbeat kicked up a gear. "Not even you're that good."

"I think there was a compliment hidden in that somewhere."

"Pretty sure I'm not the first to tell you you're good with your hands," Ste said, sucking in a quick breath as Brendan's hands travelled up his back beneath his t-shirt, skin gliding against scars. The sensitivity of it spread through Ste's entire body, made him shiver.

"Just my hands?" Brendan's voice was a suggestive, sultry croon, and he didn't give Ste time to answer. Leaned in to kiss him, delving deep and promising. "Problem is, Steven," he said after, pressing the hardness of his groin into Ste's hip as Ste smoothed a hand over his arse, wanting to touch him somewhere intimate, pleasurable, "you're wearing far too many clothes."

Ste was finding it increasingly difficult to concentrate, especially when Brendan started kissing down his neck again, making his skin tingle. "I'm not getting naked here in the hallway."

"No, but you can meet me halfway." Ste could practically feel Brendan's smirk against the skin of his throat. "I hear relationships are all about compromise."

He couldn't help but breathe out a little laugh at that. _Relationship_. The sound of the word, coming from Brendan's lips and with such warmth in his tone, made Ste want to grab him and clutch him close. Only the hardness of his cock was overriding any romanticism swelling in his chest, and instead he asked, "What did you have in mind?"

Brendan skated his hands down Ste's sides, hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his trousers. "Well you could push these out the way," he purred, nipping at the skin just below Ste's ear, "and I can suck your dick."

Ste's stomach jolted, heat rocketing through his veins. "Doesn't sound like much of a compromise," he said, breathy, tilting his head to the side to give Brendan more room to map obscene, sucking kisses over his neck and throat. "Seems I'm the only one benefiting from this arrangement."

Brendan straightened up to look him in the eye. "You're also the only one who'd complain about a morning blowjob," he said flatly, eyes twinkling.

Ste grinned. "Not complaining."

"Good," Brendan said after a moment of apparent consideration. Then he pressed a hand to Ste's jaw, brushed his fingertips along to his mouth, pressed down on his lower lip to make him open. "Suck," he said before pressing two fingers down on Ste's tongue.

Ste groaned and did as he was told.

Brendan watched, eyes darkening, even as he used his free hand to tug Ste's trousers and boxers down around his thighs, exposing his cock to the cool air, his arse to the roughness of woodchip on the wall behind him.

"Nice and wet," he whispered, ghosting his fingers over Ste's thigh, tantalisingly close to his dick, painfully far away.

Then he pulled his fingers from Ste's mouth, trailing the wetness over Ste's chin and throat as he sank to his knees.

Ste looked down at him, breath held. Seeing Brendan on his knees before him was an experience he couldn't describe—this powerful man looking up at him with pure want in his eyes as he got himself settled, pulling on Ste's hip to lift his arse away from the wall, his dick closer to his face.

There was a tense moment of nothingness as they gazed at each other, while Ste's breath remained seized in his throat and Brendan's eyes darted over his face. Then Brendan grinned and dipped down below the raised erection of Ste's dick to press his lips to the base, nestled in against his balls. He darted his tongue out to lap against the skin there and the sensation shot through Ste's groin, made him release his breath on an urgent sigh. His fingers curled against the wall beside his thigh.

Brendan's eyes drifted shut as he dragged the flat of his tongue up the underside of Ste's dick and Ste was so mesmerised by the sight of him, the feel of it, that it took him a moment to realise Brendan's hand with the fingers Ste had sucked wet was disappearing between his thighs, probing up between the crack of his arse to press one fingertip against his hole, making him jolt, the head of his dick bumping against Brendan's tongue.

The ghost of a smirk quirked on Brendan's face in the moment before he sucked Ste's dick into his mouth and pushed the tip of his finger inside, breaching the muscle of his hole, setting all his nerve endings there alight.

Ste sucked in his tummy against the wave of heat flooding his gut and pressed a hand into Brendan's hair, not guiding him or pushing him, but holding on. Brendan's eyes opened and darted up to look at him, then he pushed down further on Ste's dick and swallowed around the head. A stuttered sigh trembled out of Ste before rushing back in as Brendan pressed his finger into Ste's body in one long, leisurely glide.

Ste only got a second or two to adjust to the smothering heat around his dick and the intrusion in his hole before Brendan apparently decided he wasn't going to break. Then he went for it, a groan escaping him as he started dragging his mouth up and down Ste's dick, sucking and tongue laving along the underside, his finger building up a rhythm as he worked Ste's hole.

His cheeks hollowed as he sucked down to the base and back up, then again, and again, and he had a technique going now to match the thrust of his finger in Ste's hole and Ste's hips stuttered with it, pleasure shooting up his spine and groan caught in his throat and vision narrowing down to this, the sight of Brendan on his knees for him, sucking him down and fingering his hole and, _god_, Brendan was good at this, so good, slurping over Ste's cock like he was made for it.

He was getting too hot, burning up, and he shifted around without dislodging Brendan's perfect mouth and finger from him—got his trousers and boxers to fall down to his ankles, kicked them away, naked now from the waist down and pleasure rolling over his skin, through his gut, up his spine and making his head spin.

Brendan's noises were obscene—sucking, slurping, the half-choke as his throat constricted around him; his eyes squeezed shut and face flushed, brows drawn in concentration and lust and Ste had never seen anything so arousing, filling him with heat, muscles tensing, Brendan humming around his cock to send vibrations shooting through his groin, the finger in his hole shoving deep to make him shudder. Then Brendan did something with his tongue that pitched a shockwave of electricity through him and orgasm rushed up like a tidal wave, made him grit his teeth and suck in all his breath and his knees buckled—made him slide down the wall, his dick pulling from Brendan's mouth, down onto his knees until he was almost straddling Brendan's thighs, shoulders and head pressed back against the wall, hips canted forward, chest heaving as Brendan got a fist wrapped around his dick and stroked him harsh and rapid, that finger still inside him and thrusting deep.

Ste came with a sob, came all over Brendan's fist, hips jerking up and the room spinning around him, breath straining in his chest and Brendan's eyes on him, dark and intense and lust-blown. Orgasm was still rolling through him when Brendan released both his hole and his dick, used one hand to yank open his own trousers and the other to shove Ste's t-shirt up and off, thrown to the side—his movements frenzied, desperate, lost in the headspace that had him focused only on pleasure, on reaching his own climax.

"Turn around," he growled, voice broken and rough, and if Ste had been given a second or two to think about it, his insecurity about his back might have reared its head and made him refuse, because having Brendan see his back and rub the cream in was one thing, but Brendan facing his back during a moment of lust when everything about this situation was supposed to be desirable and not damaged—that was something else entirely.

But Brendan didn't give him that time to think. He grabbed his hip and yanked him over until the top of his chest and the side of his face was squashed against the wall, his arse sticking up and out as he balanced on his knees, and his hole was still clenching rhythmically with the remnants of his orgasm as Brendan buried his face between his cheeks with a groan and went in with his tongue, licking rough and frenzied over him without a moment of pause.

He must have known that Ste had no chance of coming again already, and it was with a jolt of exhilarating realisation that Ste understood, and it made all the breath rush out of him at once—Brendan wasn't doing this for Ste, eating his hole like he was starving for it, slick saliva and desperate groans vibrating against him. He was doing this for himself. Rimming Ste was what _Brendan_ needed right now to get himself off and the realisation of it sparked a renewed rush of heat in Ste's gut, his dick making a valiant effort to rise again.

"Jesus," he gasped to himself, and with his chest and face balanced against the wall holding him up, he reached behind with both hands and parted his cheeks, gave Brendan more room to bury his face in and slurp over his hole with his tongue.

Brendan released another groan, something deep and primal, and the sound of rhythmic shifting material said he was stroking his cock as he worked Ste's hole, pushed his tongue in, slick and warm and uncontrolled.

Ste panted with it, because he might not be able to come again but it still felt fucking amazing, and even more amazing was the knowledge that Brendan was using him like this to reach orgasm, using his hole to build his own pleasure, like he couldn't fall over the edge without having the taste and feel of Ste all around him, saturating his senses.

Brendan's groans were keening now, higher and pained and so close, his tongue working feverishly and Ste couldn't help but rock back into it a little, whisper, "Yeah, c'mon," as Brendan worked him deep and hard before he lifted away with a hiss of breath and then shifted somehow, Ste couldn't really see—but he felt it, an instant later, the hot splash of come across his arse, down his crack, over the base of his spine, Brendan grunting with it, pressing right up against the backs of Ste's thighs and coming all over him.

When it was over and silence fell around them, Ste—with his chest and cheek still squashed against the wall—breathed out an exhausted laugh. "You're so fucking filthy," he said, and Brendan huffed a laugh back at him, looped an arm around his waist to lift him up and away from the wall, flat against his own chest. Ste tipped his head back on Brendan's shoulder and stared dazedly at the ceiling, soothed back to calm by the feel of Brendan's breathing slowing behind him, against his back, Brendan's hand drifting up and down his chest, a vague caress.

"You've got a fetish," he observed mildly, and Brendan's only response was a soft, "_Hmm_," before he turned Ste's face to him and smothered his smile with a kiss.

::: :::

Doug arrived less than a minute after Ste said goodbye to Brendan.

"Were you hanging about on the corner?" Ste asked, holding the front door for him.

Doug frowned. "What?"

"Nothing, come in." They went into the kitchen and Ste put the kettle on, attempting to school his features into something more neutral. He couldn't stop smiling.

He couldn't even explain how he felt now, not after the time Brendan had spent that morning putting his cream on for him, and then what they'd got up to right there in the hall. It was a feeling that went beyond comprehension for him, and if he thought about it too much, he might just run after Brendan and beg him to come back, never leave him.

"Just came to see if you're ready to come back to work," Doug asked him as Ste handed him a cup of coffee. "You're looking better. Bit red though," he added, lifting a hand to Ste's forehead. "Do you still have a temperature?"

Which of course made Ste redden further. He didn't think Doug needed to know why he was still so flushed through with heat. "I'm fine, get off," he said, pushing his hand away. "And yeah, I'm coming in to work today. Got loads to catch up on. Did the O'Reileys confirm their numbers for this weekend?"

They talked about work, about the event they were catering this weekend, about everything Ste had to do to make up for the time he'd missed being off sick. They didn't talk about the other night, the night Ste had turned up needing to get away, hiding from Brendan in the shadows and refusing to explain when asked.

He was grateful, but he was also aware that Doug could never keep quiet for long, and sooner or later he would have to talk about it, this thing with Brendan, how it all made him feel.

"Anyway I'm here now so I can give you a hand if you're finished with that," Doug said after a while, nodding at the empty coffee cup in Ste's hand.

Ste blinked at him. "Hand with what?"

"Your cream. That's today, isn't it?"

"Ah," said Ste awkwardly. He averted his eyes, tried not to smile. "Already done it actually."

"You—really? Even that bit in the middle you can never reach?"

Ste nodded. "Yeah. Uh. As it happens—Brendan did it for me."

There was a ringing moment of silence, Doug staring at him, his face completely devoid of expression. "Brendan." His tone was flat.

"Yeah." Ste rubbed the back of his neck, not entirely sure why this was making him uncomfortable. "This morning."

Doug continued to stare at him, then something hot flickered in his eyes and he swallowed. "Right," he said, putting his cup down on the counter. "Right, okay. Well if you don't need my help, then I guess I'll just—"

"It's not that I don't appreciate it," Ste rushed to say, putting a hand on Doug's forearm to stop him from walking out. "It's just Brendan saved you the job today." He attempted a wobbly smile. "That's good, right?"

"Yeah," Doug said, his expression brighter now, but cold. "Yeah, I guess. I'm just surprised, is all. That you showed him."

Ste gave an awkward shrug. "Well we're closer now, aren't we? He had to find out sooner or later."

"Closer," Doug said. There was a hard inflection in his tone.

"Yeah."

"Right," Doug said again, and Ste could sense the thousands of words he wasn't saying. "Okay, so I'll just see you at work when you're ready."

Then he left, quietly and without further comment, leaving Ste staring blankly around his kitchen, not completely sure what just happened.

He knew Doug worried, and he had every right to. He just wished that Doug could trust him to know what he was doing, could see how much he'd come along in recent weeks, ever since he met Brendan.

If only Doug could see what Ste did—that Brendan was a part of his life to appreciate, not distrust and be wary of. Then maybe Doug would understand.

What he needed to do was get the two of them together.

::: :::

Brendan didn't trust it. He'd been staring at it for ten minutes now, trying to figure it out, and still he wasn't sure.

"It's a cheesecake, Brady," Warren said, his feet up on the coffee table and his own empty plate resting in his lap, "not a vagina."

Brendan poked his slice of cheesecake with his fork. "Don't it look a bit green to you?"

Warren snorted. "Need to get your eyes tested, mate."

Vinnie had made this cheesecake, just like he'd made all the other meals this week. He was still on his streak of maid-cum-cook duty in an attempt to stop Brendan from throwing him out. So far, it was working out well for the lot of them, so Brendan let it continue.

But this cheesecake though.

"I'll have it." Warren snatched the plate from his hand before he could object.

Probably for the best, Brendan figured, so he didn't deck him.

The intercom buzzed.

"Door," Warren said, mouth full of cake.

Brendan rolled his eyes. "Thank you, Captain Obvious." He got up off the couch and crossed the room, answered the intercom.

"Hiya, only me!"

Brendan smiled and pressed the button to let Steven in. He might have only seen him a few hours ago this morning, but he was still happy to have him here now, turning up unexpectedly.

Steven was breathless as he jogged to the top of the stairs and Brendan greeted him with a kiss. "What're you doing here?"

"Been trying to call ya," Steven said, straightening Brendan's collar for him. "Kept going to voicemail."

Brendan frowned and fished his phone from his pocket. "Oh," he said, seeing the dead screen. "Sorry about that."

"S'alright. Can I come in?"

"Yeah, yeah—" He stepped back into his own doorway, held the door open for him. "Warren's here though."

"Oh." Steven hesitated, twisting his fingers in the hem of his t-shirt. "Should I—maybe I should come back another time?"

"I don't bite," Warren said from nowhere, poking his head out the door next to Brendan and giving Steven a longsuffering look. "And I've got the kettle on. C'mon, loverboy," he added before disappearing again.

Brendan quirked an eyebrow at Steven, who grinned nervously and nodded. They went inside.

The three of them stood around awkwardly in the kitchen while Warren made tea, then Warren—rolling his eyes at the pair of them—left the room to give them space and Steven smiled and Brendan kissed the breath out of him up against the fridge and after, sipping tea, Steven dropped his bombshell.

"I want you and Doug to get together. With me, obviously. A drink or something."

Steven didn't know about his and Douglas' altercation, apparently. Brendan had never told him, and it seemed Douglas hadn't either. And this whole idea had train wreck written all over it.

"I dunno, Steven…"

"No, right. Please. He's really important to me. And you're—" He coloured and broke eye contact, stared down into the mug in his hands. "You're important to me. And I just want—I'd like it if the two of you could be friends."

There was pushing it and there was asking for the impossible. Brendan was pretty sure that he could give Steven the whole world and he still wouldn't be good enough in Douglas' eyes. The only person good enough for Steven, Brendan was sure, was Douglas—at least that was the impression he'd got during their…disagreement that day at his bar.

But Steven had just told Brendan he was important to him, and the feeling that gave him overrode any objection he had to playing nice with the American.

"All right, if that's what you want."

A grin bloomed over Steven's face, bright and clear and beautiful, and suddenly they were kissing again, like they couldn't get enough of each other—at least until Warren stomped back into the room, huffing and scowling.

"Jesus, do you ever come up for air?" He tipped his cup into the sink and rounded on them, arms crossed over his chest. "We getting wasted or what?"

Brendan winced, looked at Steven with apology. "Yeah, listen. I promised Foxy here a night in with a whiskey bottle."

"Oh." Steven peeled away from him, smiled and nodded, shifting his jacket back into place and zipping it up. "That's fine, yeah. You have a good time."

Brendan gave him a sorry smile, unhappy to see him leave.

"What, loverboy can't drink?" Warren piped up, eyebrows raised, the challenge on his face making Steven narrow his eyes.

An hour later, Steven was drunk. Turned out, the boy couldn't hold his whiskey, which Warren found absolutely hilarious, taking the piss and laughing at him and Steven taking it all, good-natured, probably too drunk to even care. He was on the floor in front of Brendan, back pressed against the bottom of the sofa, sitting between Brendan's legs and head tilted to the side, falling against Brendan's thigh.

Brendan ran his fingers through his hair and finished telling his joke to Warren, who already knew it, the bastard, jumping in with the punch line before Brendan could reach it. Brendan thumped him on the arm, hoped it hurt.

"Going toilet," Steven announced, heaving himself up, using Brendan's knees for balance. Then he staggered off, Warren laughing as he watched him go.

"Good-looking kid, that one," he commented mildly once Steven had left the room.

Brendan hummed in vague agreement. Warren was right, but that didn't mean Brendan needed to start getting all soppy over it, despite how much whiskey was swimming in his veins.

"Nice lad too," Warren added. "He's sound."

He didn't know if Warren was baiting him, trying to get him to open up and spill his feelings about Steven, but he wasn't going for it. Until he got all his thoughts and feelings straight in his own head, he didn't want to talk about it.

Besides, Steven should be the first to hear it, whatever Brendan had to say once he figured it out.

He changed the subject, coaxed Warren into a discussion about football—not Brendan's favourite subject, but Warren loved it, and it was a good fifteen minutes of debating tactics and teams before Brendan could no longer pretend he wasn't waiting for Steven's return.

"Just gonna go check on him," he mumbled, vague embarrassment in his tone, intensified by Warren mocking him for it.

Brendan took the higher road and walked away, retaliating only with the raise of his middle finger.

He opened the bathroom door to find Steven nosing through the cabinet over the sink, completely oblivious to his presence. Brendan watched him a moment, half a smile on his face, before speaking and making him jump.

"Everything okay in here?"

"Jesus." Steven spun around, hand on his chest. "You scared the life out of me."

"Yeah?" He stepped into the room, closed the door behind himself. "Find anything interesting in there?" he asked, nodding at the cabinet with its door still hanging wide.

Steven had the grace to colour a little, although he'd already possessed a rosy hue to his cheeks from all the whiskey. "Just being nosy," he said, smiling sheepishly. "You've got loads of aftershaves."

"Most of 'em are Declan's."

"This one's yours," Steven said, turning to pick out one of the bottles. He popped the lid off and brought the spray to his nose. "Smells like you—oh shit," he added, when he fumbled the bottle and nearly dropped it. He clutched it to his chest, laughing shakily. "Think I might be a bit too drunk to handle your goods." He cut Brendan an amused look. "_Don't_ say it."

"But it's such an obvious joke," Brendan drawled, sauntering closer. "It's begging to be said."

Steven put the aftershave back carefully, a grin on his face. "Go on then, if you must."

"I might explode if I don't," Brendan said, settling his hands on Steven's waist and bending his knees a little to look him in the face.

"Wouldn't want you to explode all over me." Steven's voice was low and teasing, hands fisting in the front of Brendan's shirt.

"Not unless you were handling my goods."

Steven snorted. "This is so lame."

"It's comedy genius," Brendan said before going in for a kiss, licking into Steven's mouth and tasting his inebriation.

"Brendan?" Steven whispered against his mouth a few seconds later.

"Hmm?" Brendan dipped his head low to nuzzle Steven's neck, lick a path down to the curve of his shoulder.

Steven hitched in a breath, curled his fingers into Brendan's chest. "When are you gonna fuck me?"

Brendan froze, breath rushing out against the skin of Steven's neck, all the muscles in his body tensing up and blood burning, white noise in his ears. "What?"

He felt Steven's swallow, the dry roll of it. "I said—"

"I know what you said." Brendan lifted away from Steven's neck to look him in the eye. Steven was flushed, biting his bottom lip in nervousness, but his gaze on Brendan was steely and sure. "You've had a lot to drink, Steven."

Steven gave a slight shake of his head. "Doesn't matter," he whispered, using his fists curled up in Brendan's shirt to tug him closer. "Doesn't change what I want."

A groan caught in Brendan's throat, conflict warring in his chest even as his dick twitched to life, heat spreading through his groin. "I'm not—" His voice broke and he stopped, cleared his throat. "I'm not fucking you when you're drunk," he said, hoped there was enough conviction in his tone for Steven to get it, because he didn't think he had the strength to say no if Steven pushed.

Steven sighed and pressed closer, let their lips brush together as his hand drifted low, cutting a path down Brendan's body to the pressure in his groin, curved his fingers around the hardness of his dick. Brendan grit his teeth, before parting his lips and meeting Steven's questing tongue with his own.

"Please," Steven murmured against his mouth, the word breathy and needy and exactly what Brendan _didn't_ need, not when he was trying to be the rational one.

"I'll do you a deal," he said, desperation putting a strain in his voice, doing everything he could to ignore the pressure of Steven's fingers around his dick, caressing. He lifted back slightly to look Steven in the eye, reached down to hold Steven's wrist, stop him. "If you still want this tomorrow when you're sober, come over after work." He cupped Steven's face in his hand, dragged his thumb over Steven's bottom lip. "I'll give you anything you want."

Steven blinked his ridiculously long lashes at him, licked his bottom lip to catch the pad of Brendan's thumb, tightened his grip on Brendan's cock. The beautiful little fucker knew exactly what he was doing.

"Anything?"

Brendan swallowed past the rise of intense desire flooding his system. "Anything, I promise. Just—just stop this now, before I—"

Steven grinned, gave Brendan's dick such a swift, sudden stroke through his trousers that he knocked the breath out of him. "Before you what?"

Jesus, Brendan wanted to devour him.

"Brady," came Warren's voice from outside the bathroom. Saved by the fucking bell. Brendan could have burst out of this room and kissed him. "Mitzeee's here. Said she needs some file or whatever."

"You're a fucking tease," he murmured to Steven, dipping in for a swift kiss and peeling his hand off his dick. When he pulled back, Steven's eyes were twinkling. "C'mon, before I get myself in trouble here."

Steven let out a bit of a drunken giggle, making Brendan smile, and then followed him out of the bathroom, Brendan adjusting himself as he went, checking to make sure he wasn't showing.

Mitzeee was stood in the living room, that idiot bloke of hers hovering beside her, whom Warren was busy scowling at.

"Mitzeee," Brendan said, "what can I do you—"

Steven sucked in a sharp, violent breath behind him and he turned in alarm to see what had happened.

Steven was stood there, completely frozen, staring at Mitzeee's boyfriend. His eyes were blown wide, his skin bleached of all colour, the very picture of horror on his face.

"You," he said, the word possessing barely any sound at all.

He didn't give anyone time to respond before he suddenly bolted away and back into the bathroom, the sound of him vomiting up his guts filling the apartment.


	12. Chapter 12

Brendan was trying really fucking hard not to put two and two together here.

There was a deafening silence in the room, save for the muffled sounds of Steven's retching in the bathroom. Brendan hadn't moved an inch in the few seconds since Steven had bolted; his only reaction was to ball his hands into fists, his jaw clenched, trying to clear the red edging into his vision as he stared at Michael.

Michael had gone shockingly pale, and it was his attempt at taking a step forward that jolted everything back into motion.

"Don't you fucking move," Brendan snapped at him, ignoring whatever Mitzeee was trying to say as he rounded on Warren. "Make sure he doesn't leave."

Warren gave a stoic nod and then eyed Michael with a hard, determined glint in his eye; Mitzeee was shrieking about something—"_…someone tell me what the hell is…_"—but Brendan didn't stick around to listen.

He went into the bathroom, found Steven hunched over the toilet. He wasn't throwing up anymore, just kind of slumped there, forehead resting on his arms folded over the seat. Brendan crouched next to him, put a hand on his back. Steven flinched, but didn't try to move away or shrug him off. Brendan took it as a good sign and gave his back a gentle rub.

"Hey…"

"I need Doug."

It was the last thing Brendan expected to hear, and it cut at him. He swallowed and said, "That guy, Mitzeee's fella—is he—"

"I need _Doug_." He lifted away from the seat enough to fumble in his pockets, a weird sort of nervous, panicky energy coming off him in his haste. He managed to wrench his phone out of his pocket but his shaking hands had him dropping it and it skittered away from him. He let out a tiny, broken sob.

"It's all right, I've got it." Brendan reached for the phone down the side of the toilet, eyes fixed on Steven's face—sickly white, sweaty forehead, pale lips and red eyes. He wanted to pull him close and hold on. He wanted to go out there and kill that man, regardless of whether his suspicions about him had any weight. "Steven, you need to tell me what we're dealing with here. If that man in my front room is the guy who—"

"No, no." Steven tipped back until he was resting against the wall, knees drawn up to his chest. He looked so tiny all of a sudden, here in the corner, nothing like the newly confident man who, not ten minutes ago, had been trying to seduce Brendan into bed.

Brendan knelt in front of him, the phone in his hand. He lifted his other hand to smooth sweat-damp hair off Steven's forehead. Steven closed his eyes at the touch and some of the tension eased from him. Then his eyes snapped open and a dozen emotions seemed to swim in them all at once.

"I have to see Doug. I need—"

"I know, I get it, you need Douglas." Brendan didn't mean to snap, but he couldn't deny it wasn't affecting him, and he clenched the phone in his fist before turning it over to find Douglas' number. "Here," he said, handing the phone over. "It's ringing. I'll get you some water."

He left Steven to make the call and headed back out to the living room. He had a heavy, aching knot in his gut that made him want to shut out everything and fall into a bottle of whiskey, but he couldn't right now. There were more important things than his own goddamn feelings.

Michael was sat in the armchair now, fingers white-knuckled on the arms, his whole body radiating tension. Warren stood before him, arms crossed like a prison guard, looking down at him with a menacing expression that might have been funny had the situation not been so unpleasant. Mitzeee was absent, but the clinking sounds from the kitchen alerted him to her continued presence.

He walked over to the armchair and stopped next to Warren, looked down at Michael and fought every instinct he had to drag him off the chair by his throat.

"How does he know you?" He saw no reason to tiptoe around the subject, make small talk. He wanted to know what was going on, and he wanted to know right now.

Michael shook his head. "You tell me! I've never seen him before in my life!"

He knew a liar when he saw one.

Apparently, so did Warren. He snorted. "Try again, mate."

"I'm telling the truth!" Michael insisted, waving a hand around emphatically. He looked at each of them in turn, and then abruptly deflated, slumping back in the chair. "Why am I even bothering? You're gonna believe what you want anyway."

Brendan narrowed his eyes. "What is it you think I believe, exactly?"

"Do you know what, _Mr_ Brady—" He attempted to stand up in his indignation. Warren casually shoved him back down.

"I'll ask you again," Brendan said, but Michael didn't give him chance to.

"I don't know him! I've never met him. I just came up here with Mitzeee to pick up some damn file and suddenly there's this kid throwing up and you've stuck your goon on me—"

"Goon," said Warren.

"And if I'm subjected to any abuse then you _will_ be hearing from the police _and _my legal team," Michael finished, huffing.

"Now, babe, there's no need to bring the law into this," Mitzeee said, coming back into the room with a tray of tea, which she placed on the table before shooting them all a bright, entirely forced grin. "I'm sure we can settle this like reasonable adults."

"Who do you think you are, talking to _me_ about being reasonable when—"

"Hey," said Warren mildly. "Watch your tone when speaking to her."

"How I talk to anyone is none of your—"

"Let's see if you still think that once I've ripped your throat—"

"Jesus Christ," said Brendan, bringing a hand to his forehead and rubbing. "Just shut up, the lot of you."

He had to get his head straight. There was so much spinning around in it—Steven's total freak out at seeing this guy, then his emphatic _no_ when Brendan suggested he was the person who hurt him. His suspicion that Michael was lying about never seeing Steven before…

"Here's what we're gonna do," he said, addressing the room at large. "Everyone's gonna sit down and drink that fucking tea"—he pointed to the tray of tea Mitzeee had placed on the table—"and we're going to wait for Steven to tell me what's going on. Until then, no one leaves. And you can all stop kicking off before I kill the lot of you."

Michael scoffed, but the stern look from Brendan had him shutting up and reddening in his silent anger.

He went into the kitchen to get the glass of water for Steven, took a moment to lean against the sink and breathe. There was no suggestion that Steven would even tell him what was wrong, not when he was so intent on getting fucking _Douglas_.

"Hey." A hand pressed against his shoulder, and he looked over to see Mitzeee gazing at him with concern in her eyes. "You okay?"

He breathed out a sigh of composure and put a glass under the tap. "It's not me I'm worried about."

"Whatever's going on," she said carefully, slowly, "I don't think Michael has anything to do with it."

"We'll see." He gave her a tight smile, shut off the tap.

"That kid… I know he's a nice lad, and you really like him, but—"

He rounded on her. "But what?"

"Maybe a relationship isn't what he needs right now. He doesn't seem…right. In the head."

Mitzeee was saved from Brendan's anger by a knock at the door, and Brendan wasn't surprised to find Douglas had broken speeding limits to get over here. He sighed and beckoned him in wordlessly, stopped in the middle of the living room.

"Do you know this man?" he asked Douglas, indicating Michael.

Douglas frowned. "No. Should I?"

"Come with me."

He took Douglas into the bathroom, where Steven was still huddled on the floor. Douglas gasped and dropped to his knees beside him, pulled him into a hug, Steven clinging on to him.

Brendan couldn't watch it. He stepped just outside, kept the door open a few inches to listen in, heard Steven explain through his stuttered breathing that he'd seen Michael, and he'd been hit with memories.

"He wasn't there that night, Ste," Douglas was saying. "He wasn't one of them."

_One of them_. Brendan frowned, liquid fury coursing through his veins. So not just one man. Many men.

"But he looks—I've dreamed about him. I'm sure I have."

"I promise you." Douglas sounded so earnest and sincere, even Brendan believed him. "He wasn't there."

With a sigh, Brendan left them to it.

Mitzeee stopped him before he could go back into the hall, her eyes stormy with concern. "What's going on in there?"

"Nothing," Brendan grunted. He was full of so many emotions, didn't know how to deal with any of them. Certainly didn't want to deal with Mitzeee and that man any more. "Get your bloke and get him out of my flat."

"Brendan—"

"Just do it."

He left her with her mouth hanging open and went into the kitchen, shut the door behind himself.

He felt so painfully lost, desperate to help a man who kept shutting him out. The only thing he could do was let his _boyfriend_ be alone in his hour of need with a man who was so clearly in love with him.

::: :::

Ste felt marginally better now. He knew Doug wouldn't lie about this kind of thing; maybe Ste had mixed up Michael's face with someone else. Maybe he'd never seen Michael's face at all.

The details were fuzzy now, the edges of his certainty frayed. All he could do was take Doug's word for it, put the whole mess of this evening behind him. And it had been going so _well_ before all this happened, before Ste had messed it up with yet another meltdown. He sighed.

"You all right now?"

Doug was sat beside him on the edge of Brendan's bed, hadn't left his side since he'd arrived. Ste was grateful for it, although he was starting to feel a little claustrophobic now. Doug hadn't even left him alone to brush his teeth and wash his mouth out with mouthwash.

"Yeah." He gave Doug a smile. "But I could murder a cup of tea."

Doug nodded. "All right." He looked reluctant to leave, but when he finally did, Ste breathed a sigh of relief. He needed just a few minutes alone with his own thoughts.

He didn't even get one minute. The door creaked open, and in walked the last person Ste expected to see.

"I didn't know you were here," he said to Vinnie.

"I just got back." He looked Ste over, his brows drawn. "They're all talking about you out there, said you'd been throwing up."

Ste coloured instantly, his cheeks burning. He said nothing in return. None of this was Vinnie's business, and he wasn't going to give him any ammunition.

"You don't look good," Vinnie observed mildly after an extended silence. Then he sighed and joined Ste on the bed.

Ste recoiled away from him.

"Listen," Vinnie said, oblivious to Ste's distaste. Or maybe revelling in it. "I've been through some bad things too, and Brendan, he's a good distraction. But don't go making the mistake I did. Don't go thinking he'll save you." He sighed again, deeper this time, the weight of memory. "He gets bored."

Ste snorted. "I'm not gonna take advice from someone who hates me."

"I don't hate you, Ste," Vinnie said calmly. "I love _him_." He shrugged, trying to appear careless, but his expression was pained. "I don't know how to let him go."

The door opened again, Doug coming back with the tea, and Ste breathed with relief. He'd never been so happy to see his best friend, not even half an hour ago, when he desperately needed him to tell him he was seeing things, that one of those _men_ wasn't casually stood in Brendan's living room.

"Uh," said Doug, coming to a stop and eyeing Vinnie.

Brendan edged in behind Doug then, and he was someone Ste was even more glad to see.

"Everyone's gone," he said, frowning around at the little crowd formed in his bedroom. "What's going on here?"

"Nothing—" Vinnie said, but Brendan cut him off.

"Get out of here, Vinnie."

With much huffing and eye rolling and his cheeks flaming with embarrassment, Vinnie slouched out of the room, slamming the door behind himself like a petulant teenager.

Honestly, Ste was really struggling to figure out what Brendan ever saw in that man.

"Hurry up and drink this," Doug said, handing Ste his tea. "Then I'll take you home. Do you need me to stay with you tonight?"

Ste looked from Doug to Brendan and back again. Doug's expression was hopeful, caring; he so clearly wanted to look after him.

Brendan was wearing no expression at all. But when Ste looked at him, met his eyes, he saw something there that made his mind up for him.

"Actually, I thought…I mean, if it's okay, I'd like to stay here."

The relief that washed over Brendan's face in that moment made Ste's heart lurch up into his throat.

Of course, Doug was frowning. "I don't think that's a good idea, Ste. You need space from all this."

"No I don't." He didn't need space from Brendan. He needed to _stay_ with Brendan.

"Ste—"

"He wants to stay here, Douglas," Brendan said, his voice deep and rumbling and commanding. "Back off him."

Then he looked at Ste, his eyes softening, a small smile of reassurance quirking his lips.

Doug had no choice but to agree.

::: :::

They went to bed, Steven in his trusty t-shirt, Brendan in just his boxers. The house was silent, Declan having slipped in quietly a few minutes ago and locked himself in his bedroom; Vinnie passed out on the couch.

Once Steven was settled in bed, Brendan reached over and switched off the lamp, shuffled down onto the pillow and turned on his side to face Steven, who was staring up at the ceiling. There was nothing save for their breathing for a few minutes, Brendan not wanting to disturb Steven in case he was just trying to get some peace after the night's events. But then Steven rolled over onto his side, his arm tucked beneath his head; he was looking at Brendan, the side of his face highlighted by the slip of moonlight spilling through the gap in the curtains, and then he said, softly, "Brendan?"

"Yeah?"

He hesitated a moment, his breath hitching. Then, his tone mild, he said, "Vinnie's in love with you."

Brendan's stomach jolted, but he gave no outward sign of his shock. He took a breath. "I know." There was little point denying it, and Steven didn't seem particularly affected by the information.

"Do you—"

"No," said Brendan instantly, his voice carrying conviction. The last thing he wanted was for Steven to think he held any sort of feelings in return for Vinnie.

Steven nodded, a slight shift of his head on the pillow, then licked his lips, his brows drawn in the middle. "Why is he here?" He didn't sound accusatory or confrontational. Just curious.

But Brendan didn't really have an answer for him, at least not one he could put into words. This thing with Vinnie was based on nothing more than his gut instinct to protect. He settled on, "He just needs some help," and Steven appeared to accept that as good enough, because he didn't question him any further.

They settled into another silence, looking at each other in the moonlit darkness, lying far enough apart beneath the quilt to not touch, but for Brendan to still feel Steven's heat. He wanted to touch him, but he knew this wasn't the right time. Steven had had a trying evening, a hint of that buried-deep trauma having risen to the surface.

Brendan wished he knew how to help, anything at all to make things easier for this man. He'd witnessed him freak out and come apart too many times now and he felt useless in the face of it. He barely even understood what he was dealing with.

He reached out a hand to brush the side of Steven's cheek, making Steven smile softly and his eyelids flutter with the affection.

"Can you tell me something?"

Steven took Brendan's hand from his face and rested it in the space between them, linked their fingers. Brendan didn't really do holding hands, but he was fine with this, just a casual moment of romantic intimacy. Settled something warm in his chest.

"Like what?"

"Anything," said Brendan, and when Steven still looked confused, he added, "About your back, how it happened. What that was all about with Mitzeee's bloke."

It took Steven a few moments to answer, idly playing with Brendan's fingers.

"I have these dreams," he said eventually, voice little more than a whisper. "I think—I think it's a part of me remembering the pain because there's always this…thing burning agony—"

Brendan winced internally, couldn't imagine going through that at night, in the comfort of your own bed, when you were supposed to be safe and free of fear. Instead reliving that pain, the agony of whatever happened to his back, suffering through it again and again…

"Feels so real," Steven continued, sounding lost in thought, in his own head. Brendan gave his fingers a gentle squeeze and Steven smiled at him, just a slight quirk of his lips to say he appreciated the gesture. "Anyway, I see faces," he said, stronger now. "Blurry faces. And Mitzeee's boyfriend just looked like…" He sighed, his face clouding over in a frown. "But I was wrong."

"Are you sure?" If there was any part of Steven that thought Michael had something to do with what happened, Brendan would be up and out of this room like a shot, hellbent on vengeance.

He tensed, waited for the response, the confirmation.

"Doug was there that night," Steven said. "He…saved me."

That same heavy feeling settled within Brendan, the one he'd had earlier when Steven had needed to see Douglas rather than talk to him about it, when he'd felt so useless and unneeded.

Douglas had saved Steven's life. That made him infinitely more important in Steven's world than he would ever be.

He didn't voice these thoughts, though; he let Steven continue without pause.

"He came in and saw what was happening and just—he knows who was there. Remembers it all."

Brendan didn't really know what to say to that. He wanted to know everything, wanted to go and interrogate Douglas to find out the details, wanted to know if Douglas raised heaven and hell to get Steven to safety, like he would've done.

"He had to have some therapy as well, you know," Steven added. "For what he saw."

It must've been horrific, more than he could ever imagine. So bad that a person witnessing it needed help with his mental health to deal with the aftermath. He swallowed down a wave of nausea and shifted suddenly, startling Steven—pulled Steven into his arms and held on tight. He didn't have words; Steven didn't need them, anyway. Settled in silence against Brendan's chest, his arm tucked over Brendan's waist, breathing steadily.

"So you don't have feelings for Vinnie," Steven said out of nowhere, after a minute or two of nothing.

Brendan smiled into Steven's hair. "No," he said, pressing a kiss to the top of Steven's head. "I never have."

It wasn't the most ideal thing to say, and Steven must have questions. Why his relationship with Vinnie built enough for Vinnie to come out of it so in love. Why Brendan ended it. What it was about their time together that prevented Vinnie from letting go.

Brendan couldn't help but feel relieved when, after a minute, Steven still didn't pose any of those questions, and appeared to have let the matter drop, and the gentle calm they drifted into allowed Brendan to relax, for his eyelids to grow heavy, sleep pulling on him.

"Brendan?"

"Hmm?"

"Thanks for letting me stay."

He tightened his arms around Steven, pressed closer when Steven hooked his knee over Brendan's thighs, getting comfortable for sleep.

"I want you here," he said, and felt Steven's smile against the bare skin of his chest.

::: :::

Brendan was awoken by a sudden, painful impact to his chest, making him grunt and startle into consciousness, instantly alert to any danger.

But it was just Steven and his elbow, catching him in the chest as he flopped over onto his back in his sleep.

He grumbled and rubbed his chest, tried to settle back to sleep. But then Steven moved again, shoulders jolting off the bed, and a small, pained whine escaped his throat.

Brendan froze, breath held, heart rate increasing. A moment later, Steven cried out, his face screwing up in something that looked like fear—or agony. Then he started thrashing, restrained and locked in his sleep, but enough for Brendan to know that whatever was going on in his head right now wasn't pleasant, and he couldn't lie here and let it happen.

He pushed up onto his elbow and leaned over Steven, watched him gasp in a breath as his body jolted again, lines of pain etched into his face.

"Steven," he said, putting a hand on Steven's shoulder and giving it a little shake.

Steven didn't register his voice; still trapped in his dream, moaning pitifully, convulsing.

"Steven!"

He gasped, his eyes shooting open, wild and stormy and seeing nothing, unfocused, his dream still playing through him.

"Shh, look at me," Brendan said, trying to soothe him, pressing a hand to his face to get his attention. "You're fine, it's just a dream. Steven," he said, when Steven still wasn't registering. "Look at me."

Steven's eyes flickered and looked over at him, the haze clearing. They were wet with tears, and Brendan couldn't help but lean down and press a kiss to his forehead. "You're okay," he murmured against his skin. "You're safe here."

"Bren—" Steven clamped his shaken, clammy hands around Brendan's face and pulled him into a sudden kiss, surprising Brendan, startling him.

This wasn't the time for intimacy of any kind; this was a time for comfort, reassurance. But Steven was trembling, still shaking out his breaths, still not quite free of it, whatever it was, that pain of his nightmare.

"Please," Steven whimpered into his mouth, sounding lost and scared and so small. "I can't stop feeling it—"

"Shh." Brendan smoothed Steven's hair off his forehead, caressed his cheek. Steven was crying, eyes wide and terrified and glistening with tears, and Brendan couldn't—he didn't know what to do—

"Please," Steven said again, sobbed almost, grabbing onto random areas of Brendan's skin and digging his fingers in, frenzied motions, desperation. "I can still feel it—Brendan—"

There was no way it was always this bad, Brendan wouldn't believe that. So bad that even when awake, he could still feel the echoes of the agony. This must have been a result of his trauma this evening, of going through what he'd thought was his nightmare in the flesh. Reawakened sense memory, clutching at him and not letting him go.

His eyes were wild with it.

"Tell me what you need." Brendan was willing to do anything to take it away.

Steven, hitching in breaths, shaking, took Brendan's hand and pushed it down his body. "Make me feel something else," he begged, a tear slipping down his cheek. "Please, Brendan, I can't—"

In amongst all his terror and pain, he was ashamed of what he was asking. Brendan could see it in his face, hear it in his tone. Maybe he felt weak asking for something so primal, needing the exact opposite sensation to fight the one he couldn't shift now; maybe he felt dirty with it.

Brendan was going to make him feel good again.

"Kiss me, c'mon," Brendan murmured, then slipped his hand beneath Steven's boxers as he stole Steven's trembling bottom lip in a kiss.

Steven wasn't hard, wasn't even close, but he was kissing Brendan like his life depended on it, seeking solace in it, in whatever Brendan could do to him.

Brendan caressed him a little, rubbed his dick and rolled his balls in his palm until he started getting results, Steven stiffening in his hand, whimpering into his mouth—a different kind of whimper now, still low and desperate, but with the hint of pleasure now, the distraction.

He kept it up for a minute or two, caressing Steven, rubbing his dick, stroking it, until he grew hard enough for a bead of precome to seep from the head which Brendan used to help slick his way, ease some of the friction. He could wrap his hand around Steven's cock now and stroke him properly, catch his thumb over the crown on each upstroke, Steven's whimpering into his mouth now transforming into moans of pleasure.

"Better?" Brendan whispered, lifting up enough to look Steven in the face. His eyes were dry now, darkened with lust, lips slack as he allowed the pleasure to ride him, fill his head and force out all his demons.

"Yeah, don't stop," he breathed, clutching Brendan's arm, his shoulder, pulling him in and gasping as Brendan increased the speed of his strokes, muscles burning with the exertion, wanting to carry Steven to the edge and give him that moment of pure bliss, stronger than any fear his nightmares could bring.

Steven whined low in his throat, breaking through his panting breaths, bent his knees off the mattress and curled over, his body tensing up as Brendan worked faster, harder, his own breath laboured, arousal swirling in his veins at the sight of Steven's face now, the desire in his dark eyes, lips swollen and flushed, the tiny, quiet, ecstasy-filled, "_God_," slipping from them as he tilted his head back, throat exposed for Brendan's tongue.

Brendan worked him relentlessly, breathing harsh against Steven's throat, his biceps burning and Steven's fingers digging painfully into his shoulders and then Steven was reaching his peak, abrupt and gasping, hips convulsing as his come spilled over Brendan's fist, his mouth parting wide in a silent scream.

Brendan eased him down slowly, gentled his strokes until the sensitivity got too much and Steven pushed him away, gave Steven a moment to catch his breath while he reached down the side of the bed to find the vest he'd discarded earlier. He used it to clean up his hand and then offered it to Steven, who patted himself dry and then pulled the covers back up, looking twisted up with embarrassment.

That was the last thing Brendan wanted. He took Steven by the arm and pulled on him until, reluctantly, he shuffled over and rested against his chest.

"Sorry," Steven mumbled into the quilt he still had tucked up around his face, trying to hide himself.

Brendan shushed him, kissed the top of his head and ran his hand up and down his arm. He was ignoring his own hardness; didn't care about himself right now, didn't want Steven to feel obligated to return the favour.

"Just want you to feel better," he murmured, feeling Steven's breathing even out.

Steven huffed an embarrassed laugh. "I do." He didn't seem so ashamed now, more like he couldn't believe that had just happened.

"What do you usually do when your dreams are that bad?" Brendan asked, curious despite himself.

Steven shrugged. His voice was small when he responded. "Get up and take a cocktail of pills."

"You don't need that now?"

"No," said Steven, nuzzling into Brendan's chest, almost childlike in his vulnerability. "You're… This is better. You're better for me."

It was a moment of pure, exposing honesty, whispered here in the darkness, a secret between them both.

Brendan smiled and tilted Steven's face up for a kiss, Steven's lips soft and pliable against his own, not a trace of tension left in him.

::: :::

The next time Brendan woke up, he was alone in bed, and sunlight was spilling into the room. He blinked around in confusion, trying to clear his vision, found Steven by the side of the bed, straightening his trousers around his waist.

"You leaving?"

Steven smiled at him, face bright in the sunlight. He looked so much better than he had last night, his eyes glittering, skin glowing healthily. If Brendan hadn't been there to witness it, he never would have believed Steven had had a meltdown less than twelve hours ago.

"Got work, ain't I. I'm already late."

Brendan nodded, too tired to let the disappointment bother him. "Okay."

"Thanks for…you know," Steven said, sitting on the edge of the bed and facing him. A grimace crossed his face. "And sorry about making a scene in front of everyone."

"Don't even worry about it."

Steven smiled again, leaned down to kiss him, his mouth minty fresh. Brendan had a moment of worry about his own morning breath, but Steven didn't seem to care about it, so he kissed back with the same languid, deep enthusiasm Steven was giving him.

The kiss broke just slightly, Steven teasing the tip of Brendan's tongue with his own, lips clinging. "I kinda left you hanging last night," he murmured into the kiss, hand falling to rest on Brendan's bare chest.

This early in the morning, and with this kind of kiss, that simple contact on his chest alone was enough to stir arousal in Brendan's gut. "I wasn't expecting anything," he mumbled, licking back into Steven's mouth and letting out the slightest of moans as Steven's hand travelled low down his body, lower, beneath the quilt across his waist and down to his groin.

"Hmm," Steven murmured against Brendan's mouth, smirking as his hand closed over Brendan's erection through his boxers and made him hitch a breath. "This for me?"

"That's always for you." He was tingling all over, nerve endings waking up all across his skin, his dick pulsing in Steven's steady grip.

Then Steven pulled the quilt off him completely, got on the bed to straddle him, a wicked, heated gleam in his eye.

"Thought you had to leave," Brendan breathed. He was awed by this blatant display of sexual confidence, Steven wanting something and just going for it without hesitance or fear.

"Shh," said Steven, hushing him, then leaning down to kiss Brendan's chest, edging down Brendan's body. He purred a rumble of pleasure under his breath, mouth slick on Brendan's skin, making Brendan hiss and tilt his head back, sensation spilling through his veins.

"You're all warm," Steven was saying, peppering kisses in his travels down Brendan's body, licking and sucking in random places, hands trailing down Brendan's sides. "So manly, all this muscle and hair. Just wanna touch you forever. Taste you…"

_I've created a monster_, Brendan thought, dazedly, digging his fingers into the mattress on either side of him as Steven went lower, licked the curve of his hipbone.

He'd created the best kind of monster, a sexual animal, full of tentative confidence and lust and need.

Steven's lips trailed lower, ghosted over the length of his erection, the material of his boxers separating him from Steven's exquisite warmth.

"Already so hard…"

Brendan hitched in a breath, his stomach sucking in as Steven closed his lips around his cloth-covered dick and sucked, creating a clinging wet patch.

"It's you, always driving me crazy. You've got no idea—"

In one swift move, Steven pulled down his boxers enough to tuck the waistband under his balls, and sucked the head of Brendan's dick into his mouth.

Brendan's shoulders came off the bed at the shock of it. "_Jesus_, Steven—"

"I ain't got long," Steven said, lifting off just long enough to talk, wrapping a hand around the base of him and stroking. "Have to make this quick."

"Yeah." Brendan was already embarrassingly close, far too early for control; even the hint of Steven touching him was enough to put him on edge. "Not—not gonna be a problem…"

Steven smirked, pleased with the affect he was having, and then took Brendan into his mouth, sucking immediately, tongue working hard on the underside, his hand making up the space his mouth couldn't reach without bruising his throat.

It was quick and relentless and the noises spilling from them both were obscene; Brendan was shivering with the burning flush of heat all over his skin, pleasure spiralling through his gut and up his spine and down to his toes, Steven slurping and sucking and devouring him with enthusiasm, his eyes closed, lips slick and swollen around the size of him.

Brendan was true to his word. Barely minutes into it, his body locked tight, his climax thundering through his veins and making him groan, shamelessly, shoving a hand down to fist in Steven's hair, trying to warn him.

"Steven, I'm gonna—Steven—Jesus _fuck_—"

Steven didn't let him go, kept sucking, rapid strokes of his hand at the base, dragging the orgasm from him and milking it out, swallowing convulsively as Brendan shot spunk into his mouth and stuttered out panting breaths, his vision swimming and his head filling with white noise.

A few moments later Steven released him with a satisfied little smile playing on his face, slithered up Brendan's body to give him a kiss, a taste of his own climax.

"Good?"

Brendan wasn't going to answer that. He thought the state of him alone was enough to show how good it was. "C'mere," he said, pulling Steven in for another kiss, licking the traces of his spunk off Steven's tongue.

Steven was hard and hot against him, thrusting against his hip shallowly as if trying to find some friction. Brendan smoothed a hand down and over his arse, pressed against the seam of his trousers to try to catch his hole.

"Let me do something for you before you go," he whispered into Steven's mouth.

Steve shook his head. "I ain't got time," he said, kissing him again. His voice was thick with arousal. He continued, interrupting his sentence with more clinging kisses: "But—later—we still got our deal?"

White-hot excitement flooded Brendan's body, mingled with shock. He didn't think Steven would have even remembered the deal they'd made in the bathroom last night, Steven drunk and aroused and trying to seduce Brendan into bed, into their first time together, first time Brendan would give him everything.

But not only had Steven remembered, he apparently fully intended to go through with it.

Brendan broke the kiss, pressed his head back into the pillow to look Steven in the eyes.

"I—yeah," he said, voice gruff with the thrill of it, the possibility. "If that's what you want."

Steven smiled. There was nothing about his expression that said he was having second thoughts, or that he was in any danger of having second thoughts.

Brendan could barely believe he wasn't dreaming.

They met for another kiss, this one full of electrifying, tantalising promise. Brendan skimmed his hands down Steven's sides restlessly, itching with it now, impatient and needy and he didn't care how it made him look, didn't care that Steven might think him desperate. Because he was. He wanted this man—all of this man—more than the air he breathed.

"Please," he said when the kiss broke, breathy and with the hint of a whine. He felt Steven's buttocks, his hips, tried to edge his hand under him for his cock. "Let me just—I want to—"

Steven grinned, sinful and dazzling. "It's all right," he drawled, eyes glittering. "I'll get mine later." Then he pecked Brendan on the lips and the tip of his nose before climbing off him, glaringly hard in his trousers, skin flushed. "I'll see you after work."

Brendan swallowed. "Really?" He barely registered the pathetic note of need in his tone.

"Really," said Steven with conviction, confident, leaning down for one final kiss that sent arousal flooding bone-deep through Brendan's system.

He dropped his head back on the pillow when Steven pulled away, groaned, "Jesus," heavy under his breath, much to Steven's obvious delight, then watched Steven disappear through the door, a swagger to his step that made Brendan huff a laugh at the both of them.

He was, without a doubt, in at the deep end here.

::: :::

It was a sluggish morning. He texted Mitzeee to tell her he was taking another day off, didn't dare call her lest she decide to rehash the previous night's events, then got up and took his sweet time eating breakfast and reading the news on his phone, accompanied by the soundtrack of Vinnie's snoring and Declan banging around in his room.

Vinnie eventually stirred, got lost in the shower for half an hour and then reappeared for coffee. Steven's words weighed heavily on Brendan's mind—and his conclusions as to how Steven had arrived at such thoughts—and he cornered Vinnie in the kitchen to tell him they needed to talk.

"Not today, though," he added, Vinnie's eyes wide with worry. "I need you to go help Mitzeee at the bar."

He had far more important things happening today to worry about getting into one with Vinnie.

Later, once Vinnie had left for work and Declan had gone to college, Brendan slouched around the apartment at a loose end. Part of him wanted to start preparing for tonight, make everything about it as ideal as possible. The other part of him couldn't quite wrap his mind around the fact that this could be real. He was actually going to have sex with Steven.

It wasn't until he got a text from Steven that he finally believed it.

_What are we doing for dinner? I can bring a takeaway? x_

It was a simple text, but it said enough: Steven definitely planned on coming over, and that was the foundation for their whole "deal". If Steven still wanted Brendan to fuck him today, when he was sober and in control of his own desires, then he would come over after work.

And this text said that was exactly what he was going to do. He hadn't changed his mind.

It was time for Brendan to get real about it. He responded to Steven's text, suggesting a Chinese takeaway, and then spent a couple of hours cleaning his apartment. There wasn't much to do after Vinnie's maid activities this week, but he still made sure every nook and cranny was sparkling, giving it a warm, welcoming feel. He took extra time in his bedroom, put clean sheets on his bed, changed the bulb in his lamp to give the room softer, more intimate lighting, took the spare pillows from the airing cupboard and fluffed them up for his bed, hoovered the carpet and dusted down all the surfaces.

He popped to the local chemist after, feeling faintly ridiculous about purchasing a fresh stash of condoms and a new bottle of lube. He had condoms and half a tube of lube in his drawer, but there was something telling him to get everything new for Steven, an unopened box, untouched lube. He put them on his bedside table beside his lamp once he got home and then stepped into the shower, gave himself a thorough, all-areas scrub, did a bit of landscaping to tidy himself up and then called himself an idiot and grumbled about how he wasn't supposed to be the nervous one here.

Declan came home from college just as he was finishing getting dressed, stopped in the bedroom doorway to watch his dad splash on some aftershave and turned his nose up at the very obvious over-cleanliness of the room.

"Do I wanna know?"

"Definitely not," said Brendan, straightening his collar and checking himself out in the mirror. "But it goes without saying that I need you to make yourself scarce tonight."

Declan made a face of pure horror. "I'm gonna throw up."

"Don't. I just cleaned that floor."

Declan squinted down at the bit of hallway he was standing on. "Why?"

Brendan shrugged. "Might be a good place to—"

"Oh my god, Dad—"

Brendan laughed, ruffled Declan's hair as he passed him in the doorway on the way to the kitchen. "So you're going out, yeah?"

"It's Friday night, Dad," Declan grumbled, following him. "As if I was staying in."

"Right. Good."

He put the kettle on for tea, wanted to calm his nerves a little. His own reaction to the upcoming events made him wonder how Steven was dealing with it, if he was freaking out—if, perhaps, there was still a chance he might talk himself out of it.

"This Ste bloke," Declan said, watching his dad fidget with mugs and tea bags and sugar. "You serious about him?"

Brendan swallowed, busied himself with spooning sugar into the mugs, giving himself thinking time. How he felt about Steven—really felt about him—was still unchartered territory in his mind; he hadn't analysed it, picked his feelings apart and scrutinised them.

But he didn't need to really.

"Yeah." He gave Declan a swift smile over his shoulder. "That a problem?"

"No. I just thought…maybe I could meet him. Properly, I mean."

Warmth blossomed in his chest. It was one thing Declan accepting his father as a gay man—but it had been an abstract concept until now, something he knew but never had to see or really live with. Brendan never flaunted what he did with men; never made his son a witness to his tendencies.

Steven was the first man who had any sort of permanence. The first man Brendan had brought into Declan's life with the view to making it stick.

And Declan was accepting it. Welcoming it.

He handed Declan his mug of tea. "All right. How about Sunday? I'll see if he's free and we can go for Sunday lunch. Just you, me and him."

Declan nodded, blew steam from his cup. "Okay." He didn't look as if this was a big deal to him at all, no more than any other child meeting a parent's new interest. There was nothing about him that suggested he was uncomfortable with the idea of his father shacking up with a man, for real this time, not just the idea of it.

It gave his relationship with Steven weight, somehow. It wasn't just him and Steven in their own little bubble now. Warren had become involved a little; Mitzeee had had her views on it since the beginning. But Declan was a part of it now. Declan was going to see his father spending time with a man who was not a friend, but a man who he kissed and touched and loved. Declan, for the first time since the end of his parents' marriage, was going to see his dad as part of a couple.

And that made it real to Brendan, more than anything else.

He still had those thoughts in his head long after Declan had gone out for the night, was still turning the words _relationship _and _couple_ over in his mind, that moment Steven had asked him if he was his boyfriend.

He had a partner now, and all the responsibility and consequence and pleasure that came with it.

When Steven came by after work, Brendan was expecting to find him a jittery mess. But he wasn't. He was all smiles as he breezed through the door carrying a bag of Chinese takeaway, his kiss warm on Brendan's lips, his voice bright and chirpy as he chatted on about work while dishing up dinner in Brendan's kitchen like he owned the place, talked about some lovely old lady client who wanted them to cater her granddaughter's birthday.

He was still chatting away as he poured out two glasses of lemonade—"No alcohol for us tonight," he said with a glimmer in his eye that made Brendan's stomach swoop—and started rummaging in the drawers for napkins.

Brendan was in awe of him. This man, who started out so quiet and scared and unsure, now breezing around his space without a care in the world, full of confidence and happiness and _he'd_ done that. Brendan had done that.

He wasn't so useless after all.

"…and then I said, we can't do it cold with an egg because you'll get salmonella and who needs that headache? Doug went off on one, of course, but then when doesn't—"

"Steven."

Steven paused in the process of retrieving cutlery from the drawer and looked up at Brendan expectantly.

"I just." Brendan crossed to the pot he kept beside the microwave, lifted the lid off it and dug around inside for the thing he needed, had the sudden, overpowering urge to find. "I know we've not been together long and you're not ready for anything—" He was going to say _serious_, but then realised instantly that they were already serious. They'd been serious since the beginning, a full-throttle relationship that never slowed. "I want you to have this," he said, taking Steven's hand and pressing the spare key to his apartment into it. "I—uh. You can come and go whenever you like. Treat this—treat this place like your home."

Steven stared at him for a long moment. Then he said, completely deadpan, "You don't have to butter me up, you know." His eyes were glittering. "I'm already gonna sleep with you."

It pushed a laugh out of Brendan, eased some of the nerves steadily rising in his chest. "A fella tries to have a moment…"

"Shut up and take these through," Steven said, slipping the key in his pocket with a smile and then pointing at the plates. "Make yourself useful."

They ate on the sofa in front of the TV, Steven with his legs curled under him, his plate balanced on his knee. It all felt so normal and casual that it seemed impossible how they would transition to something so massive as sleeping together for the first time; couldn't understand why Steven wasn't showing any signs of panic.

The transition side of things, Steven took out of his hands.

Brendan took the plates to the kitchen, put them in the sink and ran the tap over them, then nearly jumped out of his skin when hands settled on his hips from behind, pulled on him a little to make him turn.

Steven was smiling at him, soft and genuine. "Why do I get the feeling you're stressing out about this?"

Brendan gave a little laugh at Steven's intuition, placed his hands on Steven's waist. "I was worried you were gonna find it too difficult—"

Steven shook his head, stepped in closer until their hips rested together. "It's not like that," he said. "I'm not a virgin, Brendan. I just—my problem was intimacy, being touched by another person. And you—" He smiled up at Brendan, ran his hands up Brendan's chest to his shoulders. "You helped me get through that. I'm not saying it doesn't scare me," he added, his voice dropping. "It's been a long time—" He swallowed dryly, showing for the first time that he was affected by it. "But at the same time I know I can trust you. And I do. More than anyone."

The weight of such responsibility, rather than smother him, made him feel strong. "You have to be really sure—"

Steven rolled his eyes. "Brendan. I was begging for it last night when I was drunk. I'm here now showing you I want it just as much when I'm sober. I don't really know how else I can prove to you—"

Brendan shut him up with a kiss. If he was so certain this was what he wanted, then there was no way in hell Brendan was going to delay it any longer.

The kiss filled with intent almost immediately. Brendan growled into it, got an arm around Steven and pulled him in and up, plastered their bodies together and sucked the air from Steven's lungs, making him whimper and bend back and take the force of it.

Steven was in a hurry—pulling on Brendan's belt and yanking open shirt buttons and clawing at Brendan's skin, a desperate edge to all his movements, frenzied and manic and his hands shaking—his whole body shaking—

"Wait, wait," Brendan said, breaking from the kiss with a gasp and swiping his thumb over Steven's bottom lip.

Steven was not as confident as he was trying to make out, and Brendan wasn't going to ruin this with a quick fuck against the cooker.

"What—I thought you wanted—"

"I do," Brendan said, stroking fingers along Steven's cheekbones. "I do. Just not like this. Come on."

He pulled away from a shaken, wide-eyed Steven, and held out his hand. Steven stared at it, his chest rising and falling with his laboured breathing. Then he took Brendan's hand and went with him to the bedroom.

The lamp was already switched on, filling the room with a soft glow once Brendan closed the door behind them and shut out the hall light. He stopped by the door and gave Steven a moment, watched his expression soften as he glanced around the room.

"Looks a bit different than it did this morning," he said, laughing slightly, just a huff of breath.

Brendan gave an awkward shrug. "I cleaned…"

Steven nodded, licked his lips, turned to Brendan and looked as though thoughts of the room had already fled his mind. His eyes darkened, pupils blowing out, and while he was nervous, while Brendan could see he was scared, he was also so obviously turned on by the idea of what was about to happen.

And that was enough reassurance for Brendan.

He stepped forward, looked into his eyes for a few moments, then traced lines with his fingertips across his cheeks and jaw, caressing him, soothing him, needing to touch. Steven closed his eyes with the motion, leaned into it, breath easing out on a sigh.

Then Brendan reached down and took the hem of Steven's t-shirt between his fingers.

Steven opened his eyes again, looked up at Brendan. His breathing was shortening now, some kind of emotion making his chest constrict, but then, with an obvious effort to clear hesitation, he lifted his arms in offering.

Brendan peeled the t-shirt off him, dropped it to the floor by their feet, watched colour flood into Steven's cheeks and the way his hands twitched as he let his arms fall back by his sides, as if fighting the instinctive urge to cover himself, hide away.

He came with a soft gasp when Brendan pulled him in; he was shivering ever so slightly as Brendan wrapped his arms around him, splayed the full width of his hands across Steven's back, feeling the indents and valleys of scars beneath his palms and fingers.

He held Steven there for a few seconds, pressed a kiss down onto Steven's shoulder as he gave him time to get used to the contact, to Brendan touching his back again, seeing it, wanting it. Then he smoothed his hands down to the waistband of Steven's trousers, hooked his thumbs beneath the elastic and pushed. Steven kicked off his shoes as his trousers and boxers fell to his ankles and then he stepped out of them, looked down at Brendan with dark eyes as Brendan got to his knees and pulled off his socks, pressed a lingering kiss to the soft skin of Steven's upper thigh while he was down there, breathed him in, the heady scent of man and arousal.

Steven was hardening already, cock arching up, and Brendan was so tempted to lean three inches to the side and swallow him down. But now wasn't the time. This was about Steven accepting the sensation of another man entering his body—and not just any man. This was all on Brendan's shoulders, a weight he relished.

He was naked now, stood there before Brendan in this soft light, his skin flushed and hot. Brendan kissed his way back up, soft presses of his lips against Steven's hipbone and tummy and ribs and chest and throat, until he was stood straight and looking at this man he was taking to bed, the only man he ever wanted to take to bed again.

"You all right?"

Steven nodded. "Yeah—yeah—just—" He tried to smile past his nerves, plucked his fingers on the hem of Brendan's shirt, which was still hanging open from Steven's frenzy in the kitchen. "You need to take your clothes off too."

It was a comfort thing, Brendan knew. As much as Steven probably liked seeing him naked—and Brendan wasn't blind; he knew what the sight of his body did to the man—he was more concerned about not being the only naked man in the room.

Brendan kissed him, soft and chaste on the lips. "Go lie down," he said, and then made quick work of removing his own clothing while Steven got settled on the bed.

He looked good there, laid out naked and aroused on Brendan's bed, and Brendan couldn't wait to push pleasure into his body. He crawled over him, settled between his thighs, coaxed him into a long, thorough kiss in an attempt to distract him from his own fears; didn't let his hands roam or his hips press forward or anything that would make Steven feel as though this was moving too fast. He kissed him, and he kissed him, kissed him until his lips were numb and swollen and slick, until Steven's eyes were glazed over with lust, until their breathing matched in shallowness and Steven's eyelids fluttered and he whispered, "I'm ready," with the note of conviction Brendan was waiting for.

Preparing Steven was the easy part. Steven had become used to it now, Brendan using and abusing his hole, fucking into him with fingers and tongue and sending him crashing into climax with nothing more than his prostate stimulated.

Brendan didn't do any of that now. He coated his fingers in lube and eased one into him, just up until the first knuckle, kissed him while he worked it in and out enough until he could push right in without resistance, then gave a few thrusts before Steven broke the kiss and nodded, giving him permission to add a second finger.

It only took a few minutes for his hole to stretch and loosen around him and by that point Steven was shivering with it, small moans escaping him as Brendan rubbed him deep, teased the muscle and nerves and made him hard, leaking, his eyes blown and his hands desperate on Brendan's waist and shoulders and chest, clawing at him, needing him.

Brendan reached for a condom, tore open the wrapper. "This'll be easier on your front," he murmured, rolling on the condom while Steven watched with his glazed eyes, his cheeks flushed through with red.

Steven shook his head, and Brendan agreed. He wanted to look into Steven's face while they did this; wanted to see the look in Steven's eyes when he entered him for the first time, connecting them in the most intimate way.

He applied a liberal amount of lube to himself, reached between Steven's legs to check he was still slick and loose. "Let me just put this under you," he said, grabbing one of the spare pillows, looking for any way to make this more comfortable for Steven.

Steven lifted his hips and Brendan slipped the pillow under him, putting his hips at an angle more ideal for sex in this position.

"You sure about this?" He had to ask, had to be certain this wasn't going to be something Steven would go on to regret.

Steven licked his swollen lips; even as his chest was heaving with the experience of it all, he still had that conviction in his eyes. "Yes."

Brendan lined himself up, his hand shaking and his dick throbbing and the fear building within him that he wouldn't be able to last long enough to make this good for Steven. But judging by the tangible edge of overstimulated arousal almost vibrating from Steven's body, he didn't need to worry about lasting long.

Then, both of them holding their breaths, Brendan pushed into him in one smooth thrust.

It was bliss. Hot and tight and _perfect_. And he might not have had sex in a while, but it didn't make any difference. He could've fucked someone just last week and this would still be the most beautiful sensation he'd ever felt, Steven's body accepting him in, wrapping around him, Steven himself looking up at him with something warm and extremely powerful in his eyes even as he was wincing slightly, feeling the burn.

Brendan gave him a few moments, settled down on him and kissed him, murmured useless words of ease as they both adjusted to the new sensations. Then, when Steven's breathing evened out and he started kissing back with intent, Brendan took Steven's hands and put them above Steven's head, tangled their fingers together and shifted down to give the first thrust. Steven gasped into his mouth.

It was easy then, building up a sensual, careful rhythm, keeping his hands locked around Steven's, their hips rocking together, pressed so close that he rubbed against Steven's dick on each thrust, stimulating it, making him pant and moan and cry out as Brendan shifted his angle and went deeper.

Both of them were glistening with sweat, pleasure singing through Brendan's veins, building to a climax together and relentless with it, increasing in speed, pushing into Steven's body harder and harder until he couldn't breathe with it, couldn't cope with the sensations and the feelings and the emotions rising in his chest.

He wanted to say _you're beautiful_ and _I love you_ and _I'm never letting you go_ but he didn't say it, didn't say anything; he pressed his face into Steven's neck and groaned as his orgasm washed through him, long and intense and deep, trembling through it as Steven cried out and clutched him close and spilled come between them both.

::: :::

Ste was tingling all over, couldn't get his heart rate down to normal.

Brendan had removed the condom and they'd had their minute or two of come-down cuddle and affection and now they lay beside each other, both staring up at the ceiling, and Ste couldn't get any of it out of his head.

The sensations, the pleasure, the bliss of such a pure climax.

He was practically vibrating with all these new feelings flooding his body.

He turned his head to look at Brendan. "I wanna go again," he said.

Brendan blinked at him. He was looking wrecked enough as it was, but Ste knew he had another go in him. The man was just as insatiable as he had quickly become in recent weeks.

"No you don't."

"Yeah," said Ste, licking his lips, feeling his cock stir at the idea of it. "I do."

"No." Brendan's tone was firm, brooking no argument. "You don't."

"But—"

"You'll be sore tomorrow."

"I don't care."

Brendan snorted. "You will."

"I'll deal with it," Ste said, waving a dismissive hand. He sat up suddenly, slithered over until he could swing a leg over Brendan's thighs and straddle him. "Are you really turning me down?"

Brendan, after staring at him with his eyes wide, let out a groan and gripped his hands around Ste's hips, fingers clenching. "You're gonna have to give me a few minutes."

Ste grinned in victory. "That's all right," he said, taking his own dick in hand. "You can watch me."

"Are you—" Brendan's eyebrows had shot up. "You're not serious."

"I am."

He didn't know where all this was coming from, all this confidence and boldness and the inability to be so brash in his desires.

Brendan had been slowly unlocking him for weeks and tonight had been the final key. Ste no longer felt caged by his fears when it came to sex. He felt liberated, at least where this man was concerned. Brendan never made him feel ashamed, or that he couldn't ask for—and get—what he wanted. Never made him feel embarrassed. Brendan was the only drug he needed when it came to the freedom of his sexuality.

Brendan, obviously thinking along the same lines, gave him a wolfish grin. "Who knew you'd end up such a slut."

"Slut for _you_," Ste said, starting to stroke his dick, gentle at first, teasing himself, teasing Brendan.

"Glad to hear it." Brendan swallowed, watching Ste at work, hands running up and down Ste's hips and his own cock twitching valiantly.

Ste shifted position, sat himself back on Brendan's thighs, his feet planted on the bed beside Brendan's hips, knees bent and splayed to the side, opening himself up wide for Brendan's view. He balanced back on one hand, used his other to stroke himself, breath coming quick and shallow as renewed arousal built in his gut and Brendan let out a filthy groan at the sight of him, spread wide on his body.

But masturbating wasn't enough, not to get Brendan hard again quickly. And Ste wanted to fuck again _now_; he didn't want to wait.

He knew of one certain way to turn Brendan on out of his mind. One part of his body that never failed to drive Brendan to the brink of insanity.

"Give me your fingers," he panted, spreading his legs wider, putting his hole on complete display.

Breath whooshed out of Brendan. "Jesus—" he said, teeth clenched, going straight in with a finger without further prompting. His dick was swelling now, lifting from where it lay flat against his lower tummy.

"Yeah," Ste breathed, stroking himself faster, writhing his hips a little to push down on Brendan's finger. "Another one, go on—you've already stretched me out. _God, _Brendan—" he cried when Brendan stuffed a second finger in, his face a picture of overwhelming lust. His cock hardened a bit more, at half mast now, and Steven worked his advantage, fucked down on Brendan's fingers, fisted his cock relentlessly, locked eyes with Brendan and let his lips fall slack until—yes—

"Come on, you're hard—you're hard—get a condom—"

"You're gonna be the fucking death of—"

"Just do it—"

"You riding me?" Brendan asked, rolling on a condom with trembling fingers and then grabbing Ste's hips, helping him rearrange his legs so he could kneel up.

"Yeah, let me just—" He positioned the head of Brendan's cock at his entrance, and they both let out a deep groan as he sank down.

"Steven, Jesus—"

It felt so wickedly good. There was still the hint of a burn, but it was a _good_ burn, giving his pleasure an edge as he lifted up and dropped back down again, Brendan digging bruises into his hips. Ste might not have had sex in a long, long time before this night, but that didn't mean he'd forgotten what it felt like—and it had never felt like this.

He couldn't catch his breath as he rode Brendan's dick, hands flat on Brendan's chest until Brendan grabbed him and pulled him down and plundered his mouth as he thrust his own hips up, the sounds of skin slapping together filling the room, their muffled grunts and groans and then Ste crying out into Brendan's mouth as Brendan got him _deep_ in just the right place, making stars burst behind his eyes and the pure bliss of orgasm rocket through his veins.

"Touch me—" But he didn't need to say it. Brendan was already wedging a hand between them and grabbing his dick in a tight fist, stroking him in a matching rhythm to the thrust of their hips, both of them panting and moaning and then Brendan throwing his head back and shoving his hips up hard, his throat and neck strained with the power of the climax tearing through him and Ste came at the sight of it, dragging a hand into Brendan's hair and pressing his forehead down on Brendan's temple and crying himself raw as pure pleasure thundered through his veins and muscles and bones and left him a wrung-out mess, slumped all over Brendan's body.

He had to swallow down the terrifying, overwhelming words that rose in his throat in that moment; instead, he took how they made him feel and pressed them into a kiss.


	13. Chapter 13

**Surprise…? Better late than never. :p Half of this chapter is them just having sex. IDK. The plot picks up again properly next chapter.**

::: :::

_Tap. Tap._

Ste huffed out a muted groan and buried his face further into the pillow, attempted to ignore whatever was interrupting his sleep and drift back into his dream—he'd been on a beach somewhere, hot sunlight soaking through the bare skin of his back.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

"Dad."

There was a rustle of movement behind him, and then the blanket being pulled up over him, covering him from the nape of his neck down. Then Brendan's tired, rumbling voice: "What?"

The door opened, the sound of it dragging softly against the carpet, spilling in light from the hallway.

"I'm going for a kickabout in the park with the lads," came a whisper.

Brendan grumbled something that sounded like acknowledgement, and the door clicked shut again.

"Time is it?" Ste muttered, eyes still shut.

"Early," said Brendan, then put an arm around Ste to pull him back against heat and muscle, making Ste the little spoon.

Ste took Brendan's hand and curled it against his chest, then went back to sleep.

::: :::

The gentle press of lips against his forehead, and Ste peeled his eyes open. The room was still bathed in darkness, curtains pulled tight against sunlight, and Brendan was leaning over him from the side of the bed, fully dressed and smiling, jacket on and all.

"I need to go to work," he murmured, carding his fingers through Ste's hair.

"Oh." Ste attempted to sit up, mumbling about getting dressed, but Brendan hushed him and coaxed him back onto the pillow.

"Just sleep. You look—tired." His smirk said it all.

_Fucked out._

Ste coloured slightly, but not from embarrassment. The memories of the previous night's activities drifted through his mind like a languid caress. They shared a small, quiet smile.

"Feel free to eat, shower, whatever—I'll call you later?"

Ste nodded. His tiredness was already trying to pull him back under; his body felt heavy and lethargic and warm, and he snuggled in when Brendan tucked the quilt up around his shoulders.

A part of him wanted to say thank you for last night, but he doubted Brendan needed to hear it.

"Sleep," Brendan said again, before leaning down for a quick kiss against Ste's lips.

For the second time that morning, Ste went back to sleep.

::: :::

When Ste next woke up, it was to silence. He stayed there for a long while, curled up in the quilt, blinking sleep out of his eyes and yawning periodically.

It was kind of strange to him, that he'd come this far in his relationship with Brendan. Strange and comforting and exciting. He'd been left alone to freely roam his boyfriend's apartment, to make himself at home in his boyfriend's absence, to come and go as he pleased with his own key.

Ste didn't even really like Doug being in his flat when he wasn't there.

This was a big deal. He didn't realise it at first, last night when Brendan gave him the key. He'd known it was a grand gesture, but it hadn't really hit him _how_ grand it was. Brendan was pulling Ste into his life, making him a fixture.

They hadn't even talked about their feelings for each other yet. The prospect of that conversation both thrilled and terrified Ste. He wanted Brendan to know; all those emotions toiling within him, all that gratitude and awe and love—he wanted Brendan to know about them. But there was a niggle in his brain telling him it was too soon, that Brendan might like having him around but that didn't mean things had developed for him as quickly as they had for Ste.

Brendan really liked Ste, that much was clear, and it was enough for now—enough to make Ste smile into his yawn and stretch, enough to make him climb out of bed with a pleasant warmth coiling in his tummy.

He put on his clothes and tiptoed out of the bedroom, barefoot and cautious, listening for the sounds of company. There was nothing but complete silence and, relaxing somewhat, he went to the bathroom, found a towel and took a shower, hoping the shower gel he was slapping on himself was Brendan's and not his son's. Or worse, Vinnie's.

Vinnie was nowhere to be seen once Ste got dressed and headed out to the living room—Brendan must have taken him to work with him. Fortunate, seeing as he was the last person Ste wanted to communicate with today.

A glance at the clock on the wall above the TV told him it was gone lunchtime, and his stomach rumbled in accordance. He went into the kitchen and made some tea and toast, already familiar with where Brendan kept everything and feeling weirdly happy about it.

After washing up and wiping down the surfaces a little, then spending a moment or two chucking out all the gone-off things in the fridge, he headed out of the kitchen with the view to finding his shoes and going home, but instead he came face-to-face with Declan.

"Uh," said Ste, coming to a stop. Crippling awkwardness washed over him in an instant.

Declan blinked at him, midway through removing his hoodie, then glanced around as if expecting to find someone else there. His father, probably, because why would this strange man be walking around his home on his own?

"Hello."

Ste attempted a smile. "Hi. Sorry. I was just…" He waved a hand in the vague direction of the front door. "I was just leaving."

"Okay…" said Declan slowly, toeing off his trainers in a distracted sort of manner. "I mean—"

"Your dad's at work," Ste interrupted, accidentally, his nervousness making his mouth run away from him. He grimaced. "Sorry."

"Uh." Declan looked as though he wasn't quite sure what was happening. "I was just gonna say I'm thinking about playing some Mario Kart. So, like…" He shrugged, smiled a little. "You don't have to go? If you don't want to."

Brendan might not like it. He might not be ready for his boyfriend and his son to interact, and Ste completely understood and accepted that. He had kids of his own. You don't introduce someone to your kids without being sure of them.

"I'd like to," he said, "but I'm not sure your dad would be happy about it, so…"

Declan frowned at him. "Why wouldn't he be happy about it?"

"Well, I mean…" This was becoming increasingly more uncomfortable by the second. "You know, he might think it's a bit soon to do the whole meet-the-family thing."

"But he's taking us for that lunch tomorrow," Declan said with apparent confusion. "So obviously he's fine with us hanging out."

"Lunch tomorrow?"

"Yeah, the three of us going to—didn't he mention it?"

Something very strange was going on inside Ste's chest, right around his heart. Something big and expanding and electric. "No," he said, attempting to stifle his smile. "He didn't mention anything about the three of us going for lunch."

"Well we are, so… I'd say he's grand with us playing a bit of Mario now, if you're up for it."

"Up for it?" Confidence was dictating him now, pushing a grin onto his face. "_Pretty_ sure I'll wipe the floor with you."

Declan's eyes lit up with the challenge.

They relocated to the sofa and Declan set up the Wii, gave Ste a controller and let him pick his character first, then soundly thrashed him in the first race.

"Just a bit rusty, aren't I?" Ste tried, bravado fully in place, and Declan laughed. The bottoms of Declan's trousers were splashed with mud, Ste noticed while waiting for the next track to load, and he said, "Been through the wars?"

"What? Oh. Nah, just a bit of football with the lads."

Ste nodded, wedged his tongue between his teeth as the race started. He didn't have the lead advantage, but his character had better items, and he was going to prove his worth now.

Declan caught Ste with a banana peel, and said, "You play?"

"Nah," muttered Ste, distracted while he attempted to pull off a flawless drift that would put him in the lead. "Used to like the odd kickabout when I was younger, but—"

"Yeah? You should come play with us one weekend."

Ste huffed a laugh, then cursed under his breath when Princess Peach bashed him off course. "Me hanging about with a load of teenagers?" The comment made Declan snort, and Ste risked a glance at his face, then paid for it when Wario hit him up the backside with a green shell. "What?"

"Nothing," said Declan, then: "It's just you're closer to my age than my dad's."

Ste thought about that for a moment, frowning. "That's true, actually." He bit his lip, barely even noticed when Luigi—played by Declan—swerved past him. "Is that weird?"

"Yep," said Declan, smoothly winning the race.

"Right."

::: :::

An hour or two later, and Ste had yet to win. He was starting to think Declan was some kind of gaming prodigy and he'd been hustled.

"I shoulda put money on it," Declan said with a smirk.

"Shut up," grumbled Ste. "One more. All or nothing."

Declan was still in the process of selecting the next track when the front door opened, Warren wandering in like he owned the place. "Knock knock," he said, when he was already halfway into the living room. He nodded at Ste. "Loverboy."

Ste gave an awkward smile. "Hiya."

Declan hadn't even glanced up. Apparently Warren Fox drifting into his apartment was a common occurrence.

Warren collapsed on the sofa beside Declan, fished around down the side of it, and came up with a third controller. "Hold up," he said. "Let me just tap in."

Ste didn't really know what to do. It was all right when it was just him and Declan, and he did get on with Warren, but now it sort of felt as though he was intruding. That he should get out of their way.

"Maybe I should—"

"I'll put the kettle on in a minute," Warren said, staring up at the screen and choosing his character. "I just need to give this kid a thrashing first."

Declan rolled his eyes. "Yeah, because that's gonna happen. Though you're not the worse player I've ever seen anymore. Wait for it…"

"Hey," said Ste, mildly insulted.

Declan gave him a playful nudge with his elbow.

Six games later, Ste realised he was _hanging out with the boys_, something he often did with Doug and his friends, but never really enjoyed. He was enjoying this, though. No Brendan here to protect him, and still holding his own. Even joined in a little with the banter.

He thought of his cold, lonely, silent flat, and suggested a takeaway to Warren and Declan.

When Doug texted him to ask if he wanted to go to the pub tonight, he got distracted with choosing pizza toppings from the menu on Warren's phone and forgot to respond.

::: :::

When Brendan came home later that night, Ste was well on his way to being drunk. Warren had popped out for some beers some hours ago and they'd been drinking steadily since, graduating from the Wii to the Xbox and then to the movie channels for a showing of Iron Man, which they'd all talked their way through.

Ste had learned about Declan's girlfriend, what he was studying at college, and why—during one sentimental moment that made Warren take the piss out of him—he was really glad he'd decided to come live with his dad. He was a good kid, this Declan, good head on his shoulders and his feet on the ground and Ste could see a lot of Brendan in him, that same masculinity and confidence and a kind of old-fashioned romanticism Ste often detected in Brendan.

What he hadn't yet learned was how Warren could be sitting in Brendan's apartment getting pissed on a Saturday night when he had a nightclub to run, but that question was answered for him when Brendan came in, took one look at them all sprawled out on the sofa, and snorted.

"Don't you ever work, Foxy?"

"That's why I've got a manager," said Warren.

Brendan hummed disapproval, then leaned down to give Ste a peck on the lips, hand on Ste's shoulder for balance. "Hi."

"Hi," said Ste, kind of staring up at him dreamily. He waited for Brendan to ask what he was still doing here, but it never came. He didn't even ask why he had been hanging out with his son all day. He just went off to remove his jacket and get one of the beers out of the fridge, then sat on the arm of the sofa beside Ste, fingers playing across the nape of Ste's neck.

As ridiculous as he felt about thinking it, this had to be one of the best weekends he'd had for such a painfully long time. It had been so long since he'd felt so relaxed and at ease with his surroundings, and with other people. He didn't feel caged in or alone or isolated like he usually did when surrounded by voices. He felt…he didn't really know. At home, maybe.

He smiled up at Brendan, found Brendan already looking at him with his eyes twinkling.

"Good day at work?"

"Yes, dear," said Warren in a high, mocking voice.

Brendan glared at him. "Give Foxy a smack in the face, Deccy."

"Warren brought as beer," Declan said grandly, waving his bottle in the air. "We don't hurt the Warren."

Warren flashed them all an arrogant grin.

::: :::

The night was finally winding down. Brendan had taught them all Horses Wild—"It's a card game we used to play back home as kids, got pretty heated…"—which then developed into a drinking game until Brendan had cut Declan off and he'd disappeared to sulk and Skype his girlfriend. Warren and Brendan were now reminiscing over Brendan's ancient CD collection, playing DJ in the middle of the carpet, downing shots of whiskey and making Ste feel like an infant with all the music he was too young to remember. It was nice though, seeing Brendan like this, loose and happy and having a good time.

But it was late, and Ste had had too much to drink.

"Think I'm gonna go to bed," he said, yawning, and then realised instantly that he hadn't even asked if he could spend the night again. A blush threatened to stain his cheeks. "I mean…"

Brendan looked over at him. "You sure?"

"Yeah." Ste nodded and smiled before getting to his feet clumsily, laughing a little as he staggered to his left.

"Easy," said Brendan, chuckling, jumping to his feet to steady him. "You and alcohol really don't mix well."

"Shut up, we're made for each other."

"Is that so?" Brendan's words were soaked in amusement and his eyes were fond on Ste's face. "Guess you don't need me then," he added as he helped steer Ste away from the mess on the floor and towards the bedroom. "Back in a minute, Foxy."

"You staying up much longer?" The concentration it took to not bang into doorframes and walls meant Ste couldn't properly enjoy the feel of Brendan's hands on his waist, gentle but strong as he led him to the bed.

"I can come to bed with you now if you want."

"No," Ste said. He didn't want to be _that_ boyfriend. "Go finish playing DJ." He turned in Brendan's arms and pressed close to him, hands flat on Brendan's chest. When he spoke, he made his tone low and suggestive. "Maybe you'll wake me up."

Brendan's eyes darkened for him. "Maybe I will." He went in for a kiss, gentle at first then deepening and filthy, making Ste moan and fist his hands in Brendan's shirt when he felt Brendan's own hands smooth over his arse.

"God damn you when you're drunk," Brendan groaned as the kiss broke, his lips slick and swollen and his dick hard against Ste's hip.

"I'll still be drunk when you get back," Ste crooned, feeling his way down for Brendan's cock, the outline of it heavy and hard in his palm. Brendan hissed, pushed up into the contact. "I'll be wanting more of this."

"You know what I want?" Brendan's voice was thick with arousal, heat scalding Ste's skin as Brendan slipped his hand into the back of his trousers and down, fingertips dipping in for his hole. "This."

"You always want that." He arched his back as Brendan pushed, gently, just one fingertip, the hint of pleasure shooting through him.

Brendan hummed low in his throat, teased circles around the tight muscle of Ste's hole as he kissed him again, shallow thrusts up into Ste's grip on his dick, both of them beginning to sweat as things escalated—as Brendan pressed the tip of one finger through the muscle, dry but not painful, catching the nerves there and making Ste whimper and start working Brendan's dick like he meant it, stroking him through the material of his trousers, kissing him open-mouthed and obscene.

"_Fuck_, okay—" Brendan wrenched himself away, pulled his hand from Ste's trousers and took him by the shoulders, pushed him back until he was at arm's length. His breathing was laboured and his skin flushed as he said, "Give me five minutes."

"I'll give you three," Ste said, backing away slowly and dragging a hand up his own torso, lifting his t-shirt with it. "Then I'm starting without you."

"You—" He made a sound of pure frustration before giving Ste a glare full of heat and promise and then marching out of the room.

Smirking to himself, Ste got undressed and into bed, stretched out naked on the sheets for a moment or two before pulling the quilt over his body and getting comfortable. He didn't really expect Brendan to come back, at least not for a while—

"You better not be touching yourself."

Ste grinned and lifted his hands out of the covers to show Brendan, who had slipped back into the room almost immediately, shut the door, and was now at the foot of the bed, tearing his clothes off so quickly, Ste expected to hear the rip of a seam. His cock hardened as he watched him.

"Want you on my face," Brendan half-growled, crawling onto the bed and up Ste's body. "I'm gonna taste you so deep—" He cut himself off with a kiss, catching Ste's mouth and flirting with his tongue, pulling back before Ste could deepen it, could do little more than pant with the shock of arousal spilling through him.

A minute later, Ste was on his knees facing the door, Brendan's head between his thighs, his body stretched out for Ste to stare at while he got his hole worshipped.

He reached down to part his own cheeks and lowered onto Brendan's face, gradually, waiting for the first tease, the first touch—Brendan didn't disappoint, his tongue flicking against the edge of Ste's hole, a feathery touch that made Ste jolt away from him on instinct, just an inch or so, before lowering back onto the tip of that tongue. It was waiting for him, and when Ste's hole made contact with it again, Brendan took the opportunity to lave one long, wet stripe across the rim, slicking him with saliva.

Ste released a quiet moan, Brendan tickling the edges of his hole now, just the tip of his tongue, back and forth and around it, a constant sensation that made Ste's thighs tremble and his fingers dig harder into his buttocks, spreading himself wider, feeling Brendan wiggle into his hole, breaching the rim just slightly, stimulating the nerves there and groaning softly as he tasted him.

Ste was burning up already, his pleasure receptors firing as Brendan licked at him, grabbing Ste's hips and pulling him down a little so he could lick the flat of his tongue over Ste's hole, slurping and sucking and rubbing wet and hot and Ste was swivelling his hips in tiny circles now, grinding down onto that tongue until he was almost trying to ride it, pressing down on Brendan's face and smothering him and Brendan groaning, deep and full of pleasure, the sound of it vibrating through Ste's hole and settling in his balls.

His dick ached, hard and leaking at the tip, but he didn't touch it, didn't want that yet—wanted more of this, wanted Brendan to eat at his hole until he was sobbing with it, wanted to feel Brendan pushing his tongue in deep and slicking his inner walls and that was what Brendan did, making Ste cry out, worked his tongue through the tight ring of muscle until it twitched and gave way and then growling as he pushed in, thick tongue stretching his hole and wetting inside him and Ste couldn't stop himself—couldn't help bouncing and grinding and rocking back onto that tongue and he didn't even know if Brendan could breathe but he wasn't stopping, unrelenting and frenzied.

Brendan pulled away for an instant to bite at Ste's buttock before going back in, his tongue working over the hole in short, sharp circles without pause, attacking the nerve endings ruthlessly and making Ste gulp in a sob and his head was spinning, his skin burning hot all over, snapping his hips back and forth over Brendan's face to ride that tongue and get it harder and then he couldn't take it anymore—needed more—needed to come—

He lifted up and leaned forward, rolled his hips back until his dick was hanging over Brendan's mouth, and then forced his way in. Brendan took it, groaned with it, sucked Ste's dick into his mouth and over his tongue and Ste didn't give him a moment to adjust—started thrusting in a steady rhythm, fucking into Brendan's mouth, gasping and whining low in his throat and Brendan's dick hard and tempting in front of him.

The shock of Ste's mouth wrapping around him made Brendan's whole body jolt and his groan to rumble around the hardness filling his own mouth. Ste sucked leisurely for a moment or two, more focused on his steady thrusts into Brendan's mouth and the wave of pleasure washing over him, before his attention was caught by Brendan lifting his knees and parting his thighs and maybe—maybe—

When Ste pressed a dry, soft fingertip against Brendan's hole, Brendan froze—stopped sucking, laid there tense and tight and Ste was about to retreat but then Brendan started again, as if he'd had a moment to think and now he was sucking Ste's cock and pleasure shot up Ste's spine and he was going to do this, he was going to make Brendan come on his fingers.

He slicked one finger, wedged it in beside Brendan's cock in his mouth and got it wet, then went back to Brendan's hole and teased around it. Brendan's legs fell open wider, an invitation, hips languidly rolling up once, pushing himself farther into Ste's mouth.

Ste didn't suck—kept Brendan warm and hard in his mouth, fluttered his tongue along the underside, but he didn't suck. Wanted all of Brendan's pleasure focused on his hole, feel a little of what he did to Ste so often, that overwhelming sensation of pure ecstasy that took him over and made him scream.

He pushed the tip of his finger in, the tight ring of muscle resistant at first, and Brendan released his cock, let his head flop back onto the pillow with a gasp, fingers digging bruises into the backs of Ste's thighs.

Ste slid his mouth up and down Brendan's dick as a distraction while he worked to get his finger all the way in, listening to Brendan's breathing, any signs of distress, amazed at how much this was turning him on, Brendan's hole clamping and fluttering around him, touching Brendan in the most intimate of places.

When Ste was all the way in, down to the bottom knuckle, Brendan groaned-"_Fuck_"—and turned his head to press his mouth against Ste's inner thigh, Ste's cock completely forgotten now, so focused on what Ste was doing to him—the languid slide of lips and tongue along his dick, and the finger probing deep in his hole.

Ste breathed out a shaky breath, aroused beyond belief and lightheaded with it, and sank his finger in as far as it would go, searching—searching—

Brendan muffled a shout against Ste's thigh as his hips jolted off the bed, Ste pressing hard against his prostate and rubbing immediately, wanted to flood Brendan with the sensation, that raw, sharp pleasure that sparked from the inside and rode you deep. He shifted forward slightly, the wet head of his cock dragging across Brendan's throat, so he could angle his wrist and press in deep and attack his prostate and he still had Brendan's cock in his mouth, hardening and throbbing, leaking over Ste's tongue and Brendan liked this, he really fucking liked this.

"Steven—Steven—please—" He'd pulled his mouth away from Ste's skin to gasp and moan and beg and it was the hottest fucking thing Ste had heard—rewarded him by pulling his finger back and working a second one in with it now, more pressure to batter his prostate with and make his head explode with how incredible he felt—wanted to make Brendan come like this, just on his fingers, rocking up onto his hand and shuddering and sobbing for it.

He lifted off Brendan's dick and held it in his spare hand, a loose grip, pulled it back so he could dip down and spit on Brendan's hole for more lubrication before sucking Brendan's balls into his mouth, rolling them on his tongue, more overwhelming sensation to add to the onslaught and Brendan was vocal—muffled cries against Ste's skin, the edge of teeth when Ste hit his prostate at just the right angle and his fingers digging in bruises, holding on, holding tighter when Ste started thrusting his fingers in and out with intent, punishing, sucking on his balls and pulling on his dick and Brendan's hips fucking up into it all, into all the attacks on his senses, trying to get Ste to go deeper and harder and Ste did, the groan tearing through Brendan making his own dick throb.

He lifted up and slightly back again until the head of his dick was pressing against Brendan's face and he got the message—turned his head and opened his mouth and Ste thrust in deep and harsh and desperate, ramming his fingers into Brendan's hole and releasing his balls to suck on his dick and Brendan was making choking noises around him but he didn't stop, gripped Ste's hips to pull him in harder and then his whole body was going taut and suspended while Ste battered hard against his prostate—

Brendan came with a shout stifled by Ste's cock stuffed in his throat, came with Ste's fingers buried to the hilt in his hole and his dick spurting across Ste's tongue and it was the most intense thing, that he'd done this to Brendan, the most overwhelming shock of arousal to his system that Ste followed him, hammering down into Brendan's mouth as quick and as hard as Brendan could accommodate and then crying out as stars exploded behind his eyes and the room spun around him.

::: :::

"This one kinda looks like a tree."

Ste huffed a laugh into the pillow. "Are you trying to tell me my scars are art?"

"Hmm," murmured Brendan, then Ste felt the press of lips against where Brendan had just been tracing with his fingertips. "It's all about perspective."

It was still early; they'd not been awake long. A slow start, with them lying quietly beside each other for a few minutes before Brendan lifted up and pulled the blanket away and started running his fingers over Ste's bare back. It was relaxing, and threatening to pull Ste back into sleep.

"There's a shape of a cat here."

"A cat?"

"Yeah." Brendan outlined the shape with his finger, a gentle touch that sent tingling sensation floating through Ste's skin. "Here's the head…down to the body…and then—"

"Shut up." Ste couldn't help the little giggle, and he could feel his cheeks warming. "You're imagining things. It's all just mess."

There was a pause, and then: "Have you ever heard the phrase about beauty being in the eye of the beholder?"

"Oh my god," Ste groaned, trying to hide his face in the pillow and blushing. "Stop it."

"No." He kissed Ste's back, lips lingering in one place before moving down an inch or two. Then he spoke into Ste's skin, tongue darting out to taste. "What caused them?" His tone was cautious.

Ste sighed deeply. It didn't panic him, this question, not with Brendan asking him. A few weeks ago he might've shied away, but things were different now. Safer. Brendan not only saw the scars, he was pressing affection into them. There was no need to hide away anymore. Brendan wasn't going anywhere, not because of this.

"The big ones that look like skin's been carved away?" His voice held a minute shake to it, his nerves soothed somewhat by Brendan's kiss against the back of his shoulder, letting him speak but also comforting him. "That was acid."

Brendan's reaction was tangible. He froze, mouth unmoving mid-kiss on Ste's shoulder blade, his breath held. Ste twisted fingers around the edge of his pillowcase and continued.

"The long, shallow ones—all the straight and curved lines—that was a knife. A very sharp knife."

When Brendan still failed to respond, Ste added, quietly and almost under his breath, "Or so they tell me. I don't remember."

The world seemed to slow to a complete stop in the time between Ste's words and Brendan jolting back to life, an extended period in which worry built within Ste so rapidly his chest seized with it, worry that he'd gone too far, that he'd finally pushed Brendan to something he couldn't handle. It was one thing seeing the scars; it was another being forced to visualise the horror of how they'd come to be.

But then Brendan moved, suddenly and with intent—lifted up and pulled on Ste's shoulder until he turned on his back, looking up into Brendan's wide eyes and too-pale skin and that look of something on his face, something Ste didn't like seeing there. It wasn't pity or concern or disgust.

Anger.

He looked sickened with it.

"Brendan—"

Brendan shook his head, his lips clamped tightly together. He looked incapable of speech.

"There's nothing you can do about it," Ste whispered, and he risked a touch—fingers to Brendan's cold, pale cheek.

Because he could see it swimming in Brendan's stormy eyes—the thirst for vengeance, making someone pay, the lust of danger. It thrilled Ste, what he could imagine Brendan was willing to do for him, but it terrified him. He didn't want to have his personal nightmare ruin anyone else.

"Brendan, come on—"

He gripped the back of Brendan's neck and pulled him down until their foreheads pressed together and Brendan squeezed his eyes shut, his whole body tense and taut and almost vibrating with the anger raging within him.

Ste could barely believe a few simple words, a brief explanation, could cause such a reaction in this man. That it affected him so much he was taken over with it now. That he cared enough about Ste that the details of his pain transferred instantly into visceral fury within him.

That didn't happen between two people who were just casually seeing each other.

For the first time, Ste truly understood how powerful this all was. That meeting Brendan wasn't luck or chance or good timing. He was _meant_ to find Brendan.

Brendan was his path out of this.

"That man," Brendan whispered now, his breath a hot burst against Ste's lips. "Those _men_. You have to…you carry them around with you—every day—"

Ste's mouth was tripping over itself in his haste to stop this, to channel Brendan's anger elsewhere, to the one thing he knew would wring him dry and burn up that rage and bring him back, bring back the man who minutes ago was tracing soft and gentle love into his skin. "No. No, I don't. You've been—I used to, but you've been—you push it away. All of it." He clamped his hands on either side of Brendan's face, forced him to look. He didn't just want to burn up Brendan's anger—he wanted to feel that intensity in himself; he wanted Brendan to show him, as relentlessly as possible, what it felt like when two people so intrinsically absorbed in each other were given free rein to _let go_. Ste could take it. Ste _wanted_ it. "I just feel you. I just feel—kiss me—Brendan—please—"

He hesitated, one second—two—searching Ste's eyes. Then he kissed him, and it was the brutality Ste was craving. Open-mouthed, teeth and tongue and pressure, Brendan snaking his arms behind Ste's back and yanking suddenly and now Ste was up on his knees and straddling Brendan and they were tearing into each other's mouths like they wanted to hurt, Brendan growling low in his throat and Ste whimpering, nails dragging over the backs of Brendan's shoulders and Brendan's muscles rippling as he pulled Ste in closer, tighter, not a slip of air between them.

Brendan rearranged them so rapidly that Ste's head spun with it—one second kissing Brendan and trying to claw through the skin of his shoulders, the next facing away from Brendan, back pressed to Brendan's chest and legs bent under him to straddle back on Brendan's lap.

Ste couldn't catch his breath, didn't get the chance when Brendan constricted his airway—hand around Ste's throat, pulling his head back to bite at his throat and his other hand going down to fondle his balls harsh and quick, press them up in a bruising grip, making Ste's hips spasm with the shock of sensation and the pleasure-pain in his neck as teeth latched onto skin and bit, hard. He reached behind to touch any part of Brendan he could, scrabbling for thighs and hips and waist, nails digging and catching and body writhing as Brendan went for his cock, squeezed the base and dragged his hand up and when he finally let go of Ste's throat, Ste gasped in a sob and a, "_Please," _and then a groan when Brendan spat in his hand and reached between them to slick his cock and then lifted Ste enough to line up with his hole.

It wasn't until Ste sank all the way down on his dick, so exquisitely full with it, that he realised they weren't using a condom. The thought of it, the feel of Brendan inside him—just Brendan, no latex or lube—was enough to send him hurtling dangerously close to the edge.

He reached up and behind to grab Brendan by the back of the neck and used it as leverage to start moving—slow at first, adjusting to the size of Brendan within him, Brendan hissing into his shoulder and stroking Ste's dick and they were both shaking with this, the intensity of it, the overwhelming savagery of it as Ste started riding his dick hard and quick and Brendan was scraping lines into his chest with his nails and digging teeth into his shoulder and the panting and the moaning and Ste was coming, too soon but his body was ruthless and there was no stopping it—

He spasmed and clenched around Brendan's dick as orgasm flooded him and the primal groan from Brendan said he was joining him but he didn't—he forced a hand between them to hold his own cock at the base wedged against Ste's hole and he must have squeezed hard to prevent his climax because while Ste was convulsing and his dick was spurting come and every bone and muscle was vibrating with the onslaught of pleasure, Brendan had gone completely still and stiff and then a shudder, a painful full-body shudder so intense it rocked through Ste.

"Brendan—" Ste gasped, confused, head a mess of ecstasy and numbness and still that rising wave of arousal he hadn't quite abated.

"You're going again." He didn't sound human—voice strained and choked and agonising, and then he was taking Ste's hips in both hands and forcing him up and then down, unrelenting pressure against Ste's prostate and he couldn't go again this quickly but he could, he knew could, because Brendan had made him before—

"Oh—god—"

He didn't get time for anything, his whole body so oversensitised and especially his dick, his prostate, everything Brendan was attacking again now as Ste started moving on his own and Brendan could get a hand around him again and stroke, hard, violently, too much sensation on his dick—riding Brendan and pressing back against his chest and hissing his pleasure as Brendan bit at neck and throat and sucked in bruises, other hand dragging nails up the inside of his thigh to his balls and to the skin behind and then to his hole, hand between Ste's spread thighs to feel himself sink in and out of Ste's bruised, overstretched hole.

It was too much, too much, and the sounds coming from Brendan were animalistic, primal, uninhibited growls and groans that sounded vicious, so lost in his pleasure as Ste rode him with everything he had and crested a wave of pure rapture, and then it was over for the both of them—brutal, uncontrollable shudders and chest-deep groans of carnal pleasure and Brendan almost roaring with it, smothering himself in Ste's neck and his spunk flooding into Ste's body and then Ste opening his mouth in a silent scream as his second orgasm tore through him.

Ste wanted to say it, right now in this moment, with both of them wrung dry of everything, leaving nothing but _this_, this overpowering emotion he _needed_ Brendan to hear, just three little words while Brendan was buried inside him and he was plastered back against Brendan's body and the two of them connected, so tightly woven together—

The door opened, suddenly and without warning. Ste let out a yelp of panic in his haste to tug the quilt up over himself while Brendan cursed and groaned behind him and attempted to help.

Warren walked in, didn't even blink at the state of them. "Reeks of jizz in here," he said, nose wrinkling. "I made breakfast."

Then he left.

Ste sagged against Brendan, disbelief edging out the pleasure swimming through him, listening to the sound of Brendan knocking his head back against the wall and huffing out a laugh.

::: :::

Ste chose to skip breakfast, needed to get home to take some pills and sort out his flat and phone the kids. He should probably call Doug as well, apologise for not answering his text.

Brendan walked him to the front door, his expression still carrying a little of the bliss Ste could feel coursing through his veins, and as he opened the door, he said, "Oh I meant to ask, I was thinking of taking you and Deccy—"

"Lunch today, yeah." Ste smiled up at him. "Declan already told me."

Whatever Brendan was going to respond with, he was prevented from doing so by the sound of footsteps stomping up the stairs. A moment later, Vinnie appeared in the hall, looking so obscenely ravished that Ste couldn't help but blush.

"The hell happened to you?" Brendan asked, frowning at him.

Vinnie smirked as he approached them, didn't even bother to try hiding the bites on his neck or the tears in his clothing. "Wouldn't you like to know."

It only took a second or two for the penny to drop, and then Brendan's frown turned into a scowl. "Get lucky last night, did you?"

Vinnie's smirk was sinfully wicked, and Ste couldn't help but feel irritation rising within him, especially when Vinnie crowded into Brendan's space and murmured, "You jealous?"

It took Brendan a moment too long to push him away.

And Ste didn't miss his swallow.

"Get inside and shower. I don't want Declan seeing you in that state."

Vinnie, the jumped-up little bastard, had the nerve to wink before doing as he was told, slithering past Brendan like a horny snake as he pushed his way through the door and inside.

"Ignore him," Brendan said, as if reading Ste's mind.

Ste smiled, or tried to. "It's fine," he said, backing away towards the stairs. "But I've really gotta go, so—"

Brendan looked troubled, and when he said, "I'll pick you up in a couple of hours?" there was a hint of caution in his tone, a trace of worry.

"Yeah." He stepped forward to give Brendan a quick kiss on the mouth, because he was being stupid, he knew he was. Vinnie was nothing. "I'll see you in a bit." Then he pulled Brendan into a deeper kiss, felt the sudden urge to.

He left Brendan with that satisfied, blissful look back on his face, and he went home happy.

::: :::

Brendan didn't pick him up in a couple of hours, and Brendan didn't answer Ste's calls that afternoon. When Ste gathered his nerve and went over to Brendan's later that day, letting himself in, he found the place empty and dark.

He heard nothing from Brendan until just before midnight, when he received a blank text with a picture attached.

Someone had taken the photo from the foot of Brendan's bed.

A photo of Brendan in the bed, naked.

Wrapped around Vinnie.

::: :::


End file.
